


Look At Your Life

by evelynegrey, fortunefavorsthebrave



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Heavy Drinking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4648812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evelynegrey/pseuds/evelynegrey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunefavorsthebrave/pseuds/fortunefavorsthebrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So the others aren't aware that you've got a special contact list for 2am calls?" Stan says obnoxiously, looking up from his display briefly.<br/>"I don't call people at 2am," Louis snorts, even if that's only partly true. "They know about the obvious one."<br/>"Yeah, how do you even keep that from exploding in your face? If /she/ doesn't know."<br/>"Easy," Louis smiles but it strains a little in the corners of his mouth, sets something loose in his chest that seems to rattle every time he breathes or thinks about it too hard. But Stan doesn't need to know that. "I make them all fall in love with me."</p>
<p>or,</p>
<p>Louis has a strategy, a way to cope that makes sense to no one but him. He never meant for anyone to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look At Your Life

Louis stretches until his spine pops and rolls over, reaching for his pants on the floor to tug them on.

"Feeling better?" Stan asks, propping his head up on his elbow as he watches Louis get dressed, just joggers and a jumper, the rest can wait.

"Mm," he hums, fishing a pack of smokes from the pocket of his discarded jacket. "Mind if I smoke in the window?"

"Go ahead. Not like mum's gonna notice." He grins and Louis laughs lazily, sticking a cigarette between his lips.

It's always easy, with Stan. They know what they like, and can tell exactly what's needed in any situation. Today, for example, Louis needed something fast and rough, and Stan has always been great at humouring Louis' whims.

"You know, you might be the best one," Louis announces, like he's granting Stan a great honour with this title.

"Yeah? Why's that, then?" He's already on his phone, probably using too many emojis in his status updates and being charmingly foolish.

"You get what I'm here for, never push for something else. None of that soppy 'let's discuss our feelings about this in the afterglow' shit. That's why you're my best mate. Hey, can we have some tea?"

"Only if you get off your big arse and make it yourself. You're more dressed than me."

"You love my big arse," Louis states, gazing at the road down below. It's completely empty. Doncaster in a nutshell.

"Sometimes," Stan agrees, and Louis smiles slowly to himself, wondering if there's enough time for another round after they've had tea. Might as well since he's here.

"So the others aren't aware that you've got a special contact list for 2am calls?" Stan says obnoxiously, looking up from his display briefly.

"I don't call people at 2am," Louis snorts, even if that's only partly true. "They know about the obvious one."

"Yeah, how do you even keep that from exploding in your face? If _she_ doesn't know."

"Easy," Louis smiles but it strains a little in the corners of his mouth, sets something loose in his chest that seems to rattle every time he breathes or thinks about it too hard. But Stan doesn't need to know that. "I make them all fall in love with me."

***

Rehearsals are much easier after a visit back to Donny, what with getting to see his family again and his muscles feeling looser after seeing Stan. He's back to his old tricks, prancing around on stage and doing impressions of the other boys, and everything feels right with the world when he gets Zayn to join in on slowly balancing objects on Harry after he falls asleep on the steps in a break.

"Alright, boys!" their choreographer shouts just as Louis manages to tuck a crisp into Harry's curls. "I need you on your marks, from the top now, come on!"

Zayn scampers off and it falls on Louis to round up Harry. He's curled up like a cat, and it must be uncomfortable for his back, Louis thinks briefly, before laying a hand over his hip and squeezing.

"Hazza!" he shouts in his face. Harry jumps and a handful of coppers scatter over the floor as they fall from his shoulders and head. Louis runs off cackling.

Harry looks disgruntled and his voice seems to be struggling, so Louis makes a peace offering, pressing a mug of tea laced with honey into his hands and hip-checking him for good measure, just because he can.

It takes two hours of practising before Louis takes pity on the poor crisp living in Harry's hair and sneaks over to remove it, crushing it up over Harry's lap when he knows Niall is watching, just to hear him laugh. It feels great to be surrounded by people that actually appreciate his antics. Not like his mum or-

"Is Eleanor coming to Sydney?" It's Liam, always bloody Liam who wants to talk about girlfriends in the middle of rehearsals. Louis sometimes misses the days when each and every one of his sentences didn't include stuff like, "Sophia and I," or, " _we_ think."

"Maybe," Louis shrugs, pulling out his phone in order to appear busy while they wait for the sound guys to adjust someone's microphone.

"You haven't seen her for a while. Did you make time in the break?"

"We met for lunch," Louis admits, dragging up a game and turning away, trying to put out even more 'don't talk to me' vibes. It works, miraculously, and Liam directs his attention to Zayn, starting a new topic about him and Perrie, probably setting up a double date. It's nice that Liam is so invested in their relationships, but in these cases, Louis would rather be over with Niall and Harry, the honorary bachelors, playing catch with one of Harry's scarves rolled up into a ball, blissfully unaware of what relationship talk is like.

***

Harry drives because Louis lost their game of rock, paper, scissors. He's still grumbling about it in the passenger seat when he gets a text, hauling out his phone to check the display quickly.

"Wanna come out tonight?" It says with a silly smiley at the end.

"What's that?" Harry asks, noticing how Louis' gone silent, purposely tilting his phone so Harry can't see.

"If I told you, Harold, I'd have to kill you," he mutters, thinking about his plans and deciding that he's got nothing better to do. "Sure" he answers the text, with one of the flirtatious emojis at the top of his 'recently used' section. He gets a club name and time, and turns his attention back to Harry.

"I'm going out tonight," he announces, tapping his fingers impatiently against his knee.

"Oh, cool. Me too," Harry smiles, so oblivious. He's probably going to some hipster juice bar or something. The great thing about Harry though, is that he never asks for more details than Louis willingly gives. He knows that trying will result in more sass than he can cope with.

He dresses in tight black jeans and a tank top that hangs low on his chest, showing off his tattoos. He pulls his fringe forwards, fluffed up and sprayed stiff, before heading out of his bedroom to try to find his keys and wallet.

"You look good," comes a deep voice from the kitchen and Louis only stops to shrug into his much too thin jacket.

"Taa," he says, fishing out his keys from the inside pocket victoriously.

"I like your hair like that."

"What's with the compliments?" Louis comments as he starts rifling through coat pockets and bags strewn across the hallway floor, hearing Harry approach behind him.

"Dunno, just think people should hear when they're pulling off a look," Harry tells him, suddenly really close.

"Are you trying to subtly ask for more compliments? Not sure you need that on your ego," Louis laughs, turning and knocking straight into Harry's chest. He's got firmer, somehow. Harry slaps him across the head with something small before he can make a comment, and it turns out to be his wallet. "Stealing my stuff? Could get you arrested." He pockets the wallet, and reaches for the last coat he remembers keeping cigarettes in. So much preparation, just to eventually get laid.

"Not when you throw your stuff on the floor for me to find, love," Harry says evenly, wandering back towards the kitchen. Louis ignores the stab in his chest. Harry isn't even aware that he calls him that, sometimes. "Have fun," he adds.

"Don't wait up!" Louis shouts back before he bangs the door shut and runs down the stairs. The car's already waiting for him.

Louis doesn't really ever get tired of clubbing. It's another experience now that he has to go to places where he won't be recognised, but the gist is still the same; dance, drink, sometimes attempting to pull, but really, Louis already has too many boys' numbers to need any new ones. They're good lads, discreet, aware that Louis would sue them senseless if they blabbed and too enamoured by him to want to. They all know it's not official, and neither Louis nor anyone else is obligated to take themselves off the market, given how rarely Louis gets to be in the same city for long.

He's three shots and one pint into the night when familiar arms wrap around his waist, hands gripping his hips securely. To say he's pulled onto the dance floor is a bit much, because Louis is entirely willing. Thing is, he's a fan of being moved around by someone who's going to take care of him, so it's a sort of game, putting up token resistance so he can be hauled around.

All the clubs he goes to now are checked first, all dark enough to restrict phone use, and flash photography is generally not used. But the most important things about each place are the sizes of bathroom cubicles or back rooms. It doesn't feel unusual to use these as hookup locations any more, especially when he's had enough to drink. He thinks about it, but reckons there's still time to dance a bit more, drink a bit more, and maybe even having the luxury of being fucked in a bed tonight, since Aiden is one of _those_ boys.

He does end up giving a blowjob in the toilet a few hours later, but not to Aiden. Aiden is the one who gets him into a cab at midnight and leads him up to his flat in Haywards Heath. Louis is, at this point, dying to get his release.

Aiden guides him to the bed after Louis has insisted on taking his shoes off by himself, even if it takes ten minutes. The bed is incredibly soft, and the silk sheets feel really nice against heated skin when he wrestles out of the tank top. He can't get his clothes all dirty, after all, and prefers to have a much skin contact as possible.

Aiden's great because he adapts easily. If Louis decides halfway through that they're going to change positions immediately, he goes with it, and there's no power struggle because they're quite evenly matched, unlike some people who enjoy teasing Louis about height and strength differences.

"I don't have the patience for all this foreplay," Louis whines while Aiden tries to drag the absurdly tight jeans down Louis' legs, and he gets a scolding bite just inside his thigh for making a fuss.

"You shall do as you're told," he tells him, flipping Louis over and spreading his legs obscenely. Louis sighs contentedly into the pillow when a finger enters him a few seconds later, pushing back against it until he gets a hard slap for misbehaving again. Louis loves misbehaving most of all.

"You're so difficult," Aiden sighs, gripping him hard around the hip to keep him still as he opens him up. Louis giggles and moans and squirms, delighted when he gets another slap two seconds later. His cock is hard and wet against his stomach, and Harry might be up to help him into bed later. He hopes he makes tea.

He should probably stop thinking about Harry while another man has his fingers buried in him, but his mind is scattered when he's sober, let alone-

"Hey, did I say you could start daydreaming?"

"Mnn, no," Louis sighs, relaxing into the sheets and bringing his attention back to the blissful knowledge that he'll be all filled up, soon. "Sorry."

"You will be," Aiden threatens, but it sounds like promise of good things.

"Mm... punish me," Louis mutters, and gets several slaps in return even if Aiden _knows_ what it does to him. It ends up being almost too much with so little to keep him grounded. Louis starts whining.

"Yeah, yeah," Aiden shushes him with a gentle hand on the small of his back. "I'll make you feel good now, babe, don't cry."

And then he finally pushes his cock in all the way and Louis goes limp like a dead fish, pliant and at peace at last.

***

He doesn't remember much of afterwards. There had been a car and some stairs but then he's suddenly on the floor in their hallway and the lights are on, little fairy lights across the corners of Louis' vision, as someone helps him to his feet.

"Hey," Harry murmurs, dragging one sound into a long word like he does when he's being soothing, "come on, up you get."

"You're more up than me," Louis tells him, not helping at all because his limbs are heavy, and he's so comfortable in his own skin that he could sleep anywhere. Maybe on Harry.

He's half carried through to the kitchen, where Harry lifts him to sit on the counter and pours a glass of water, telling him to drink as much as he can.

"You look good," Louis feels like it's important for Harry to know, because those yoga trousers look really nice on him, hanging from his hips so low.

"Thanks." He gets a pretty smile in return, and tries to reciprocate, giggling a bit and spilling some water on the floor.

"Want tea, now, Haz."

"You'll wet your bed if you have tea now, love," Harry tells him patiently. "I'll make you a cup in the morning, okay?"

"Promise," Louis demand, stretching his arms out.

"Of course. What are you doing?"

"Carry me."

"All the way to your bedroom?"

"Harry..." he whines and of course Harry steps close and grabs Louis' thighs to hoist him off the counter. Louis plasters himself against him, burying his face in his curls and is asleep before they've even reached the top of the stairs.

He wakes up to a murderous headache and a cup of tea on the night stand. The tea's getting a little cold, but it's manageable. Louis stretches, feeling good about the particular soreness in his body that means last night was spectacular, and reaches for his phone, firing off a thumbs up icon to Aiden, to let him know he survived getting home and things are good between them, then dials Harry's number because the idea of shouting for him is impossible.

"Good afternoon," Harry greets him, probably trying for a whisper and failing. "You okay up there?"

"I think I'm dying, Harry," Louis tells him instead. "I need the medical kit."

"You mean comfy clothes, my sunglasses and strong painkillers?"

"Mnn. And more tea."

"We're leaving in half an hour."

Louis hangs up. Rehearsals are going to suck but at least he has a sore bum and a few bruises to remind himself it was worth it.

***

He has lunch with Eleanor again a week before tour. He asks if she wants to join them in Sydney but she says no.

"I have far too much going on at work to be able to make it," she's saying, pushing her food around on the plate with her fork. "Maybe Tokyo."

"Tokyo is a weird place," Louis replies nonsensically, thinking about the karaoke he and Harry had been enjoying the first time they were there, bellowing Grease songs at the top of their lungs in one of those little private singing booths they have there.

Harry had been shockingly awful at his half of the Summer Lovin' duet, but somehow that had only made it better.

"I think I'd like to see it, still. Maybe."

"I can get your ticket whenever."

They separate again when Eleanor has somewhere to be, and Louis orders more tea, settling into the booth they'd picked and thinking about the tour. It's going to be so long, it's almost absurd to think about going through with it, but they need to, of course. It'll be fun, like it always is, and time will move differently. He'll have his boys close, and his tour friends. Might even make a few new ones.

***

The first thing Louis notices when he walks into their flat is that Harry's crying, big ugly sobs erupting from the living room as he stumbles out of his shoes.

"Harry!" He calls out, suddenly scared and disorientated, coming to a halt in the doorway.

Harry's watching Titanic.

"Are you kidding me?" Louis breathes, as Harry peeks out from under a cushion. "I thought you were dying!"

"I am dying! From a broken heart."

"It's not _your_ lover sinking to the bottom of the sea."

"But it feels like it!"

Louis shakes his head, muttering that Harry is so embarrassing, and walks past him into the kitchen, making two cups of tea and carrying them through.

As soon as he sits down, Harry flings himself at Louis, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face against Louis' chest.

"Leo is too beautiful to die," he wails. Louis glances at the pile of DVDs on the table. "Haz, no, we're not watching the Notebook next."

"You weren't supposed to come home," Harry mumbles into Louis' jumper. "Why are you home?"

"El had somewhere to be."

They're silent until the credits are rolling, Louis listening to Harry's laboured breathing and thinking about reaching for his tea.

"Why are you still with her?" Harry asks suddenly, his voice quiet and wobbly but audible above the music from the screen.

"What?" Louis says. Harry sits up with an effort, sniffling.

"Why do you keep stringing her along? You're never making time to see her."

"She's never got time to see me!"

"But you don't love her."

Louis stares at him, a million thoughts running through his mind, breath clogging up his throat. "What gives you the right?" he says at last.

"Nothing," Harry admits, closing his eyes briefly and wiping his cheeks on the back of his hand. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, you shouldn't," Louis agrees, and thinks about getting up and storming off for effect, but then Harry lies back down on his chest and he's trapped.

"I wanna watch The Notebook now," Harry says. Louis doesn't have the drive anymore to protest.

They get a short break of breathing properly, long enough for Harry to get Louis' tea for him and start on his own, but he quickly dissolves into tears that he tries to disguise against Louis' shoulder.

"Nothing's even happened yet," Louis complains, pulling on Harry's hair. "What is wrong with you?"

"Knowing how it ends is worse. They're so in love, and just..." Harry trails off because his voice is so thick with emotion, and he's already close to sobs. Louis rolls his eyes, tempted to tell the internet how much of an idiot Harry is, and how he cries about love at least once a day, just to get back at him.

"You're in love with love," he states. "It's gross."

"You're gross," Harry retaliates weakly.

"Your dick is gross."

Harry frowns at him deeply. "You're a child. You no nothing about true love."

"Because you've had so many deep, meaningful relationships."

"Love isn't measured in quantity."

"If you keep crying over chick flicks it won't matter because _The One_ is going to think you're gross either way," Louis tells him and feels satisfied when he doesn't get a reply.

Harry keeps crying, but firmly pretends he isn't, and Louis decides it's too easy to tease him about it and lets it go.

By the end of the movie, Louis is half asleep, and Harry has moved, basically laying in Louis' lap. He realises he's petting his hair, twirling long strands around his fingers on repeat, letting them spring back into perfect corkscrews over and over.

"You're right though," he mumbles into the dark, removing his hand. "I don't love her."

Harry stills, sniffling and wiping his eyes on Louis' jumper.

"Why don't you break it off?"

"Because it's safe," Louis admits, feeling like if they discuss it in this low light, it's less real. "She's nice."

"You could have anyone, Lou. You deserve someone who you actually want to be around."

"I already have everyone I want to be around," Louis smiles as Harry shifts to look at him properly.

"That's not what I meant."

Louis breathes in slowly, studying Harry's tears stained face. "Love doesn't always work out as neatly as it does in the movies," he says at last, wiping some snot from under Harry's nose.

"It might," Harry whispers, so fiercely certain that soul-mates are a real possibility in his life, and Louis admires his unwavering faith. "You just have to find them."

"You might as well replace Hugh Grant,” Louis teases him. “You don't even have to act."

"You can make fun of me if you want," Harry says stoically, "but it doesn't change anything. I still think that love is more important than anything."

Louis swallows, then eases Harry off of him. There's an ache beneath his rib cage and a weariness in his heart, something sour on his tongue as he makes his way over to the stairs. "And I'm sure you'll find it," he says before climbing the stairs, leaving Harry alone in the dark.

***

Their first show goes amazingly, and it's a unanimous decision to go and celebrate afterwards.

Harry, a lightweight but enthusiastic anyway, starts on celebratory shots, and forgets to announce they're for everyone, drinking them himself when they're left alone.

It's a short period of time before Harry's happily on his way to drunk, and demanding they dance.

Louis pretends he can't hear him, and pretends even harder when Harry gets close and starts whispering things in his ear that Louis honestly can't hear over the blaring music.

"I'm not dancing with you!" He shouts at Harry's face and tries to shove him to the side so he can get to the bar and order another drink.

"But you love dancing!" Harry shouts back and holds onto Louis' hips as they stagger across the floor together.

"Not with you!"

Harry pouts, but then Niall makes his way past and Louis twists, passing Harry off to him. It works, because he's easily distracted on good days, and even worse now, and Louis is free to get away, making for the bar and ignoring the ghost of hands on his hips. He should find someone to fuck, but it's risky when the boys are around.

He orders a rum and coke and goes back to their table, spending some time listening to Julian and Scott talking music before his eyes wander and he spots Liam exercising some ridiculous dance moves under colourful lights. Louis always wondered why he does that when he's really a terrific dancer as opposed to the rest of them. Harry's not far from him, standing very close to a tall, dark haired girl Louis doubts he knows. She's pretty enough though, as far as he can see, and it doesn't really concern him until they're suddenly coming over, clearly intending to sit down.

Louis slips out of his seat before he can think twice about it, draining his drink and disappearing in the crowd. He needs to find his bodyguard and he needs to get back to the hotel. Something ugly throbs in his chest, and he feels caged in, like the air is getting difficult to breathe, and Alberto is nowhere to he seen.

A cute boy walks up to him, inviting him somewhere quieter, and it's so tempting to go with him, to get a Sydney hookup, but Zayn is watching him with concern in his eyes, so Louis shakes his head, muttering that he can't right now.

He makes a run for the exit, looking for his car and desperate to make it home. He'll call a taxi, if he has to, but he can't go back inside to risk getting involved with Harry and his new friend. There's a chance he'll take her back to the hotel room because Louis can't even remember the last time Harry had sex and it's only reasonable that he should want that. It's only fair, he thinks, and walks straight into Preston's arms.

"Alright?" he says with a hand on Louis' shoulder, firm and _right there_.

"Can you call a car?" Louis asks immediately, something like relief settling over him as he waits by the curb, half hidden behind Preston's broad back.

The ride is too long, and too dizzying, so Louis asks for Preston's help to get to the hotel room, asking for ear plugs, just in case he needs them when Harry gets home.

Preston tucks him under the covers, giving him tea and the remote for the TV, and Louis tells him he's fantastic, and decides not to prank him for at least a week. He sends a group text to the boys, telling them where he is so nobody worries.

Only Zayn replies, but Louis isn't surprised. He doubts the others will even see it until morning.

He still hasn't managed to get to sleep when there's loud knocking on his door several hours later. He can hear voices outside, the lads, and hopes to god they're not planning on having an after party in Louis' room.

The door opens and Liam comes into view, flanked by Niall, with Harry hanging limply off of his shoulder. It looks bad.

"Hey, mate, Harry's been asking for you," Liam tells him, slurring the words enough for Louis to know he's wasted.

"I don't want him," Louis replies immediately but has no choice but to hold on to him when Liam pushes him into Louis' arms. Harry only seems half conscious and Louis hasn't seen him this gone for ages, not since they were teenagers.

He sighs, buckling a little under the weight and practically dragging Harry onto the closest chair, crouching and calling for him.

"Haz, can you hear me?" He tries, completely willing to slap him into waking. Harry slurs an answer inaudibly, barely able to keep his head up. Frowning, Louis shakes him a little. "Stop being so useless, Harold, answer me."

"Louis..." Harry giggles like a five year old, leaning forwards dangerously so Louis has to put a hand firmly on his chest to push him back. He looks up at Louis under hooded eyes and smiles. His pupils are blown.

"Fuck, Harry, are you high?" Louis says, voice rising. "Is he?" He directs at Liam. "Did he take something?"

"I don't know," Liam shrugs unhelpfully, swaying slightly.

"Just fucking go away," Louis snaps at them, losing his patience as he helps Harry to his feet, attempting to get him to lie down on the bed. "You're all useless."

Niall hovers a bit, looking like a lost puppy, but Louis swears at him again and the door is pulled closed.

Harry collapses onto the bed in a tangled mess, still giggling about Louis' accent when he swears. He reaches out, trying to cling to Louis' clothing and pull him back.

"Mate, you're gone," Louis informs him, as if he can hear what he's saying. "Did you mean to get high, or were you spiked?"

"She was nice," Harry grins dopily, still trying to pull Louis onto himself and playing with the buttons on his shirt.

"I don't doubt it," Louis mutters, grabbing Harry's wrists and holds them down until he stops struggling. Then he gets to work on removing Harry's shoes. "Are you going to go to sleep now like a good boy?" Louis asks wearily, chucking Harry's boots away one at a time and wishing someone else could have been woken to take care of this.

"I don't want to be alone," Harry mumbles, turning onto his side clumsily.

"You're not alone," Louis sighs, turning off the lights and climbing into bed. "I'm right here."

"I don't mean you," Harry shakes his head. "I don't want to die alone."

Louis tries not to connect the two sentences, and takes a weary breath. It's going to be a long night.

"You're only 21, you're gonna find the one."

"Do you promise?" Harry shifts a bit, squirming as he tries to shrug out of his clothes, defeated by the buttons on his shirt and the clip of his belt.

"Yes, I – Harry, _what are you doing_?"

"Don't sleep like this," Harry answers, whining a bit and squirming more. "It's really warm..." It isn't that warm, and Louis can't help but wonder exactly what Harry took, if he even knows what it was, because stating that the girl who maybe gave him the drugs was nice doesn't explain if he was on board or not.

It's not until he tries to help Harry undo his belt though, and realises that he's hard, that he completely loses it and has to bury his face in his hands for several seconds, trying to breathe through his nose.

"Fuck, Harry," he whispers, hands shaking as he lowers them. "I can't do this."

"Help me..." Harry whines and Louis feels close to tears, like he's on the verge of breaking entirely in two.

"I can't help you," he says even as Harry reaches for him and squeezes his wrist.

"Louis..."

"Harry," he states firmly, shifting back a bit and shaking his head, trying to get him to understand how out of line he is. "Do you know what you're asking for?"

"Need you," Harry breathes, near whining again, and it could be so easy to assume what he's asking, and help with his obvious problem, but Harry's never implied anything like it before, and it's ridiculous.

"Need me to what? Do you just want help with your jeans? I'm not doing more." He curses the fact that he can't really see Harry in distress and leave him alone. Harry mumbles in agreement, and wiggles his hips around, clearly trying to shake off the jeans that are skin-fitting, but it has an alternative effect, drawing a low sound from his lips, and Louis starts calculating the quickest escape route that doesn't make him feel guilty for leaving Harry in his discomfort but keeps himself relatively sane.

"Please be still," he begs, reaching again to get the belt open and the button, his fingers feeling numb as they manage to pull the zipper down so he can finally start dragging the trousers down Harry's legs. It's clear Harry's trying to cooperate now, but then he's suddenly pushing his pants down along with his jeans and Louis cries out in panic, trying to force them back up. "No, no, no!" He pleads, grabbing onto Harry's wrists and holding them down either side of his head, breathing hard as he leans over him. "Don't do that," he whispers close to Harry's face. "Please, don't do that."

Harry breathes out heavily, muscles moving in his arms as he twitches, clearly considers pressing up into the space between them, but he holds off, going lax under Louis' hold and staring up at him with glassy eyes.

Slowly, Louis lets go, because he can't stay like that for too long without crying.

They wrestle Harry's jeans off eventually, through Harry is barely any help, and after some struggling his shirt makes it onto the floor, too.

That just leaves Louis, fully clothed and acutely aware of his own arousal, and Harry, in nothing but tight boxers that leave nothing to Louis' already wild imagination, still watching him in the semi-darkness.

"We're going to sleep, now, Harry," Louis informs him, trying to sound stern and absolutely not emotionally wrecked. Harry makes a sound the could be agreement, and starts trying to get closer to Louis. It's likely he just wants a cuddle, because he's like that, all the time. He did ask for him enough times that Liam hauled him to his room, after all.

If he just wanted to curl up, Louis could maybe allow it, but when hands somehow find themselves over his hip and into his hair, like they're going to end up pressed together, Louis learns that in this state the only way to make Harry completely co-operate is to stop him touching anything and hold his wrists at a safe distance.

"I know that's usually okay," Louis mutters, remembering all the times they've ended up passed out and tangled together at home because going back to their rooms was too difficult, "but not now, okay?"

Harry squirms a little and doesn't reply. Louis tucks the duvet around him, covering him up, and ends up without but it doesn't matter. Five minutes later, Harry is asleep and Louis' collapsed beside him, all wrung out and broken. If he cries for a while afterwards, no one has to know.

Harry wakes him the next day by trying to cuddle up close and asking for tea. Louis rolls out of bed before he's even fully awake, telling Harry to make his own bloody tea. Harry looks confused and hurt, just like Louis feels, but it doesn't matter if he doesn't remember. Louis does.

***

After Brisbane's show, Louis feels like crawling out of his own skin.

Harry is basically back to full health, though their second show in Sydney was clearly terrible for him, but he acts skittish around Louis because he refuses to tell him what he did wrong. He's been tense about it for days, fending off outbursts when he gets too close to a flashback and overcompensating on being annoying so nobody will be able to catch him long enough to ask what's wrong. Liam tries, going so far as to tackling him to the ground and tickle him into talking, but Louis licks his own hand and plants it firmly on Liam's face to distract him and escape, so he stops trying.

All of it leads to Louis dressing up for a night out, with several days before their next show, hoping to god that he can find a nice boy to take away his troubled thoughts and cheer him up.

He spends a long time doing research on gay clubs in the city, and picks one carefully, telling the other boys that he's staying in when they go to a different place. It's a good plan, and he feels even better once he's surrounded by pretty boys and loud music, sipping on a Cosmopolitan absently as he scans the room.

He almost wishes Eleanor had been able to see him in Sydney, because at least he would have got laid by now.

His thoughts are knocked away when a nice lad looking to be in his late teens walks over and confidently hooks his fingers into Louis' belt loops, smiling down at him from their marginal height difference. He looks really good, in a form-fitting shirt and dark jeans, but it's maybe too early to give up the search. This needs to be fantastic, otherwise he's probably going to cry about it.

But that's not to say he can't help the boy out a bit by being nice, and it'd be a decent way to start the evening. So Louis coaxes his new friend into buying him another drink and stays tucked against his side, keeping contact to reassure himself that this is familiar, and he's allowed to be himself for a few hours.

When the boy, Sandy, asks him to join him in the back room some time later, Louis doesn't say no. If they get it over with now he still has time to find someone who will take him home and fuck him, which he's pretty sure this one won't do. Louis can tell he's a bottom, and Louis certainly doesn't top if he can help it.

It feels good, having a cock down his throat, as it gives him some time out to just drift. Sandy's making cute noises and doesn't pull on Louis' hair or try to abuse his mouth. It's nice, and afterwards Louis' allowed to just quietly slip away, back to the bar where he's immediately picked up by a larger bloke, older, who buys him tequila shots and whispers dirty things in his ear.

It's exactly what he came to the club to find, really. The guy's quite handsome, too, which never hurts, and a casual brush of Louis' hand over his jeans confirms that if it goes well, Louis' going to go back to the hotel very pleased with the night's events.

The promises whispered to him get more obscene as the night goes on, mostly about how he's going to love being spread out on the sheets and how it's going to be so nice to fill him up, and Louis finally gives in, admitting that he doesn't think he can wait longer, and he wants to go back right now. The power bottom thing clearly works wonders, and not ten minutes later Louis' being pushed into a flat and directly to the bed. There's something lovely about getting to see so many new homes, how people live differently to what he was used to, but there's never enough time to admire anything, because Louis starts taking his clothes off as soon as he's able to, and expects his short term partner to do the same.

He's naked and spread out on the sheets quickly, barely kissed before he's being opened up. Louis spreads his knees, grinding down on two fingers, but the tequila is starting to get to his head and it's spinning, faster and faster until he can barely keep his eyes open. He squints through the darkness, at the guy's face, and there's long dark hair falling down over his face, like Harry's, Louis thinks and reaches for it. Just like Harry.

And he doesn't feel ready for the cock pushing into him suddenly, doesn't quite understand why his legs are being bent in an uncomfortable angle, and he wants to say stop but the words seem to die on his tongue. He's whining, but not from pleasure, and he doesn't want to be touched by a stranger anymore. He wants his own skin to belong to him only.

It takes too long to get the words out, and beyond Louis' panic he can hear the man above him getting close, oblivious to the fact that he doesn't want to be here anymore.

By the time his hands work enough to tap at his arms and get some attention, it's too late, and there's a hand on Louis's back to press their bodies closer, give a deeper angle as the man, Louis never even got a name, hits the edge and tips over it, swearing roughly into his shoulder and leaving a bite mark that's entirely on the wrong side of good. Louis feels like he's going to cry, awfully and unattractively, like Harry watching Titanic alone.

There's enough time to apologise and pull on his clothes before Louis is stumbling out of the flat, wondering what classes exactly as a proper breakdown, and if he's having one in the taxi. His shirt's inside out, buttons not matching their slots, and there's knots in his hair that only happen when fingers coated in lube press into hairspray. Louis has never felt more like a wreck than this moment, and he misses Donny so much it pains his heart, because this never happens there. Everything is building and he isn't sure what version of Louis Tomlinson will make it out on the other side of the break.

That's when his phone starts ringing, loud and jarring, in his pocket.

"Hello?" he answers, voice breaking, and he has to cough to try to clear his throat.

"Louis?" It's Liam's voice. "Where are you? We just got back."

"I'm in a cab," Louis says weakly, forcing back tears.

"What are you doing in a cab? Where have you been?"

"Out." He looks out the window but has no idea where he is. His head is swimming, hands shaking and his body hurts. He's so, so lost.

"Stay on the line, okay?" Liam is saying and he sounds scared. "Tell me when you're at the hotel and we'll come down and get you."

"'Kay," Louis breathes, curling up in his the chair and leaning his head against the window. The driver asks if he needs them to pull over, maybe worried Louis might throw up and cost more money than he's spending, but the prospect of stopping is impossible, so he shakes his head and listens to Liam freaking out quietly, telling Zayn that Louis' been out somewhere and he doesn't sound right. It dawns on him that they might get Harry to help them, and that is out of the question.

"Li?"

"Yeah, mate?"

"Don't get Harry. Just... I don't want to see him."

"....Sure, Lou. Anything. Do you know where you are, yet?"

The streets look unfamiliar. He could be in a different country entirely and Louis wouldn't remember leaving Australia. He can't remember much, really, it's all blurred, a mix of physical discomfort and a memory of the nice boy he should have gone home with, rather than setting higher standards. They could have done a switch-thing, worked it out between them. Liam's still calling his name, but he can't remember the question, can't steady the phone very well in shaking hands.

Somehow, the driver makes it to the hotel, and Louis is so grateful that he just hands over his wallet, telling him to tip himself and trusting his judgement, because he can afford to.

Zayn is the one who gets to him first, helping him out of the car while Liam talks to the driver. He can hear their voices, but he doesn't understand what they're saying, and it's easier to just be led inside and guided to their floor. He doesn't know who's hotel room they're in but Zayn sits him down on a couch and Niall is there too, wrangling Louis' jacket off him and then his shoes, for once staying completely silent through it all.

"How much have you had to drink?" Is the first question Liam asks and Louis is drunk enough not to lie about it like he probably would have.

"A lot," he admits.

"Did something happen? Your shirt is inside out."

Zayn keeps a steadying arm around his shoulders, and it's so different to how the other man had felt. Zayn is allowed.

"The sex was so bad," Louis slurs, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. He feels dirty.

"The sex?" Liam questions, as if he can't hear properly.

"He kept touching me. Fucked me too hard. I wanted to stop but I couldn't."

"Louis. Louis, look at me." He sounds so insistent that Louis has to comply. "Did somebody rape you?"

Louis shakes his head, frowning. "No," he says.

Liam looks like _he's_ about to cry, which is just weird. He's not the one trying to get over awful sex that didn't even get him off. Louis helped two people get theirs tonight and he's had nothing, and that should be illegal. It is, in his world.

"Louis, please, try to make sense. Who were you with?"

"Dunno his name. Never got one. Sandy was nicer, he cared. Mnn, Aiden, too. He's a good lad."

Louis is still shaking, and he can't get it to stop. It's like his body is so repulsed that he can't stay still, wants to take the hottest shower he can survive and rub off a few layers of skin to remove any traces. At some point he's started crying, too, so he tries to hide that against Zayn, who's got the darkest shirt on.

They're all talking above him, trying to work out what's been happening, and Louis doesn't blame them. He lied about this for so long, they're going to hate him. He has an urge to keep talking, pretend he isn't in the middle of freaking the fuck out, and just list what's been happening for them, admit to it all so they can leave him alone and understand who he really is. But then, he doesn't want any of them to leave, ever. He doesn't want to be alone.

Which is a sick joke, since that's the sort of talk that started this whole mess.

"Louis?" It's Zayn talking this time and Louis turns to him, tangling his fingers in the hem of his shirt. "Why are you crying? We need to know what's wrong."

"Everything is wrong," Louis sobs, covering most of his face with his free hand.

"Okay," Zayn says patiently. "Then can you tell me why you went home with a man tonight?"

"Because he doesn't want me." It's the first time Louis says it out loud, the first time he words it in a way that makes sense, because at the end of the day it doesn't make him happy - it's just a way to survive.

"The man doesn't want you? But he took you home anyway?" Niall sounds confused, and of course he does. Louis' cryptic by nature about this.

"No, not that one," he clarifies, hiding more so he can't see any of them, can't see how they're going to react. "Harry,” he sighs brokenly. “It's always fucking Harry." Maybe there's more bitterness than Louis intended, but considering recent events, he's entitled to still be angry at him.

Nobody replies, and all Louis can hear is the rush of blood in his ears, a dull sound on the inside of his skull. He feels guilty but he can't remember why. He's already lost track of the conversation.

Then there's a loud knock on the door.

"Liam?"

More silence, then, "What is it?"

"Have you found him? Please let me in."

Louis looks up then, drawn to the sound of that voice. Liam sighs and gets to his feet, opening the door.

"He's here," Louis hears him say and then he's stretching his arms out because Harry's here. Harry's scooping him into his arms and holds him so tightly Louis can't breathe, but he goes slack all the same, finally knowing he's safe.

He might have fallen asleep, there's a mumbled conversation going on somewhere close by but it might just be in his dreams.

After an unknown amount of time, Louis is aware of movement, voices growing fainter. He's being carried somewhere, with his legs wrapped around a waist and strong arms supporting his frame, and it has to be Harry, because there's no distant part of him screaming. So he lets it happen, burying his face into Harry's neck and trying to remember why he keeps crying. Did someone say something to upset him? Or is this still about how awful the sex was? He can feel that memory, all over his body. Not the ache he longs for, the nice one. It's like everything is wrong and nothing fits him right.

"Shh, it's alright," Harry whispers, petting at his hair gently, and Louis only cries louder, because he lives to defy what Harry suggests.

The world moves, and suddenly something soft is on his back and Harry's gone. He whines, curling up and calling for Harry again without bothering to open his eyes, but then he's back, taking care of Louis' mistakes like he always does. Louis wonders if he's ever been able to tell that Louis' been having sex, or if he's actually as innocent as he sometimes plays himself to be. Maybe he just doesn't care.

***

The next day is horrible. Louis wakes in Harry's room but leaves the moment he's capable of standing up. He locks himself in his own room, showers until his legs give out and still doesn't feel like he's able to wash it all away, memories and guilt alike.

The boys knock on his door at some point but Louis doesn't answer. He ignores their texts as well, and eventually they stop trying to contact him. Harry's the only one who doesn't try at all.

He doesn't come down for dinner and he doesn't order room service - just the thought of food makes him nauseous. He throws up once, and stays on the bathroom floor for a long time. The cool tiles feel good against his burning face. He's got another day, he thinks tiredly, closing his eyes. They're not flying out to Melbourne until the 14th, so he doesn't have to face them yet.

The text from Harry, sent at around ten in the evening, he doesn't even open.

He loses track of the hours, just sleeping wherever he can. The best portion of sleep he gets is in the bathroom, because he keeps waking up feeling like he's seconds from trying to get rid of poisons that aren't actually in his stomach.

When he eventually makes it beyond his door in faded sweats that belonged to Stan before Louis confiscated them, with a hoodie that hides his body from the world and makes him seem smaller, less like someone to bother paying attention to, there's a pillow on the edge of the hallway next to him, like one of the boys has been camping out in silent loyalty. Probably not silent, he probably has a message or a voicemail to confirm who it was.

It's dark out, and nobody is around, so it's maybe past midnight, not quite respectable morning hours.

Louis heads for Harry's room, walking right in because it's never locked, the boy has no understanding of privacy. If he thinks about going to see him too much, he knows he'll turn, even in the middle of the room, so he stays silent, thinking of song lyrics as a distraction.

The bedside light is turned on, casting a warm glow over the room, and Harry looks up, still awake and dressed, sat with his knees pulled up and back resting against the bed frame.

"Hey," he says softly, as if he isn't quite surprised to see him there.

"Hey," Louis replies and goes to sit on the bed, close enough for Harry to reach out and take his hand, holding it delicately in his massive one. He looks like he's not sure how to touch him anymore.

"How are you feeling?" He asks. Louis's glad he doesn't seem too angry.

"Embarrassed," he admits. "Really, really guilty."

"Guilty why?"

Louis shakes his head, looking anywhere but at Harry. "I didn't mean to tell you. And you shouldn't have had to see me like that."

"Why? Because of her?"

Louis shrugs. "And all the other reasons for you to judge me," he sighs. "I don't want to come out. I don't wanna be this _thing_. And it's easier to pretend that I'm not sometimes."

"Louis," Harry says carefully, squeezing his fingers slightly. "I think we need to talk about the man that raped you."

Louis winces, pulling his knees closer to his body and letting go of Harry's hand. "He didn't," he says defensively.

"That's not how you told it the other night," Harry presses, leaning forwards like he can get through to Louis like that.

"I chose to go home with him, it just wasn't exactly what I expected." Louis shakes his head, frowning, wondering why he doesn't get it, doesn't understand what Louis needs, that he doesn't have much choice any more if he wants to feel normal.

"You were crying, and you told Liam that you wanted him to stop but he didn't." Harry always has to really drive his points home, and Louis is tempted to just get up and leave, because he doesn't have to explain his choices to anyone.

"You don't know what happened, Harry. Stop acting like things are clear black and white."

They stare at each other, Harry with his mouth slightly open as if he wants to argue, but in the end he looks away instead and says, "So what about the fact that you've been lying to us all this time?"

"I didn't lie," Louis points out. "I just didn't want to talk about it."

"How often do you go home with people? How have you even managed to keep it a secret?"

"It's none of your business where I choose to spend the night," Louis tells him, irritated and trapped in a conversation that doesn't seem fair to begin with.

"We live together," Harry points out.

"How does that automatically give you the right to judge my sex life?"

"I'm not judging you," Harry argues. "I'm just really fucking worried."

That sets Louis back a step, because he'd been assuming that Harry would have some pretty strong views on the whole thing. But of course, perfect Harry Styles, he only feels concern.

"Alright, fine. What do you want to know? I might not answer, mind." Since he hasn't been thrown out, and Harry doesn't seem disgusted, Louis may as well give him a chance to learn something more.

"Does Eleanor know?"

"No."

"Do your parents? Any friends?"

"I haven't told mum. Stan knows, obviously."

Harry echoes the name, sounding faintly upset.

"We've been shagging since college," Louis says shortly, thinking it's explanation enough, but Harry looks shocked.

"You and Stan?"

"Yes."

"We went skiing together."

"And you and I shared a room," Louis says tiredly. "Why is this even important?"

"Was he your first?" Harry asks then, strangely careful about it.

"Yeah," he sighs. "And I was his. It seemed logical."

"How does it come down to logic?"

"Not everything is about true love, mate. Especially not sex."

"It should be," Harry insists predictably and Louis' already so sick of this argument.

"Well it's not. For me, at least," he sighs, crawling onto the bed a bit more so he can lean against the headboard. He's so tired, these last few days, since Harry was so high he couldn't control himself. Everything hurts, and it's like he wants to cry, constantly, and eat his weight in ice cream.

Harry looks like he has an opinion on Louis' comment, but he wisely doesn't voice it, adjusting his body to face Louis a bit better. After a stretched silence, in which Louis closes his eyes and has an internal battle with exhaustion, Harry speaks again.

"Do you want a cup of tea and some old TV re-runs until we pass out?"

"Aren't you mad at me?" Louis asks without opening his eyes.

"I dunno," Harry answers, "but you're mad at me too so I guess we're even."

Louis considers his words carefully. "You were high, the other day," he says slowly. "Really out of it. The boys left you with me because they were drunk and didn't know what to do. You said things... and you tried to take all your clothes off in my bed. And then you couldn't even remember it the day after and I just... couldn't deal with it."

He feels Harry's hand on his again, and he doesn't try to remove it. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I know, but you did the same for me so I guess we're even." He cracks one eye open and gives a weak smile. Harry does his best to return it.

"I don't judge you, Lou. I don't want you to think that."

"I know."

"I'm on your side."

"Yeah."

They stay quiet for a while, with warm cups of tea cradled in their hands and the TV on a channel that seems to be running Friends episodes all through the night.

At some point, Harry's hand fits around Louis' shoulders, and he slots up against Harry's side like they do at home.

He drifts in and out of consciousness, never quite able to commit to proper sleep, and then there's knocking at the door, Liam's frantic voice that Louis is missing.

"It's open," Harry calls out, and Louis sits up a little, blinking his eyes open to see Liam come bursting through the door.

"Oh," he says, looking comically lost for a moment as he looks between them. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Louis tells him, getting out from under Harry's arm to climb out of bed. "Thanks, and I'm sorry."

Liam glances at Harry. "It's alright. But we still need to talk."

"Talk to Harry," Louis tells him, resigned and hanging onto the only hope he has left - that Liam will lie. "When's the flight?"

"In three hours. We're leaving soon."

"I'll be in my room," Louis declares, and sidles past him out the door.

***

The show is probably pretty good, but Louis is a wreck. Having barely slept after a terrible experience, he isn't really feeling it. He tries, of course, because it's impossible not to, but really he wants to curl up under the stage and sleep for weeks.

And then they're moving on, always to new locations with more sound checks and hotel rooms, and Louis fights to keep things simple. There's an unspoken ban on asking him about his sexuality, because it changes nothing. If they discuss it between themselves, he barely cares. Louis plays up all his other traits, making jokes and causing trouble so they'll understand that he's still the same person, and he definitely isn't affected by the bad sex he had.

In Adelaide, there is a chance to relax for a night before moving to Perth, the last part of the Australian tour.

On default, Louis gets back to his room and starts digging through for the nicer jeans he owns, and a shirt that's flattering but not too loud. There's a gentle knock at the door, followed by Niall's voice as he starts talking before he's even inside.

"The lads are thinking about calling- oh, are you going out?"

It hits then, how they all know what he's planning when he goes out, and last time comes crashing back with startling clarity. Slowly, Louis drops his shirt, picking up one of Harry's old ones from back home that he stole, letting it fall over his hips and redirecting the search for some sweats.

"No, actually. Changed my mind. You guys will get bored without me," he manages, noticing how Niall says nothing, just trots over to pat his shoulder happily.

"We're ordering as much food as the team will let us, so everyone can have a proper meal. You're best at phone calls."

It's nice to still feel wanted, so Louis gets changed and Niall drags him to the room they're all set up in, and lets them distract him.

He thinks about the sex he could be having, and ultimately feels an odd sense of relief that he isn't. It's not that he cares about what Harry said, but there's still some longing in him for familiarity, for an intimacy greater than just skin on skin. He really misses Stan, and he misses his and Harry's flat, and he decides that if he can't go home he can at least stay with his boys.

***

It's a week later, in Osaka, that things change. They're going through a lengthy and difficult sound check, where Harry's microphone keeps failing and everyone gets too restless to properly concentrate.

Louis' standing some way away from the stage, watching Niall try to entertain Harry while the sound guys try once again to make the equipment work. Niall is currently twirling Harry and leading him in some improvised ballroom dancing, inevitably resulting in a lot of tripping on leads and falling over clumsily. There might be a faint smile on Louis' lips as he watches idly, but it immediately slips when Zayn sidles up beside him, breaking the silence with a quiet, "How do you do it?"

Louis takes a moment, because of course it was going to be Zayn. He should have guessed that if anyone braved asking him about this, it would be the quietest member of the band. Because of that, he thinks that Zayn deserves the good answers out of all the ones he's considering.

Looking back over to where Harry is nearly falling over Niall's foot, he takes a breath and says, "Back at our flat, I asked him to go to the late night shop down the road for tea, just because I wanted a new box instead of the old one we were using and wanted to see if he'd actually do it. He got dressed up and went, no question. Apparently, he fell over and managed to graze his knees through the cuts in his jeans, right outside our building. But he kept going and came back with my tea. He let me put plasters on while we both pretended he wasn't almost crying about it like a baby, and all I could do was mock him for having all the grace of Bambi and pat it better."

Zayn nods, a quiet smile lingering on his face, and Louis has never talked about this, so maybe this is the only time he'll let himself.

"He's it for me," he admits, not looking at Zayn, not looking at anyone. "I don't think I could get out even if I tried."

"We wouldn't tell him, you know that, right?" Zayn replies gently, looping an arm around Louis' shoulders.

"Thanks," he says.

"Do you ever get used to it?

"No," Louis breathes, smiling automatically when Harry looks up and sees them looking. "But it is what it is."

Harry grins back brightly, and they get caught like that until Niall misses his playmate and throws a balled up song sheet at him. Louis thinks he should feel better now, but he doesn't. The words are just as crushing once they're out.

They work for a few more hours, repeatedly going over stuff when one of the boys forgets where to be. For those hours, Louis and Harry are kept apart, because all they do next to each other is mess around and change lyrics.

When they split for lunch, it's instinctive that they make towards each other, reaching for each other.

Maybe he shouldn't encourage it, and maybe he'd be better off without it, but at the end of the day Harry is the only one who can quiet the loud noises in his head and make the world fall away just a little. At the end of the day, Louis would rather have some part of Harry, whatever he can give, than none at all, and that's why they're still here. That's why they still have a house together, and share possessions, and sit beside each other when they travel. They're still here because Louis is too weak to be anywhere else.

He presses his face into Harry's neck and breaths him in, comforted by the arms resting firmly around him and making sure he doesn't take off to cause havoc before they've had a moment to familiarise themselves again. When they finally pull apart a bit, Louis is ready to drink several cups of tea and lounge around to rest his legs, except Harry doesn't exactly let him go. His hands come up to frame Louis' face, and it's more than the fleeting taps Louis gives people, more than when Harry's sleepy and reaches out to push at Louis' face to make him be quiet. He holds Louis still, and just looks at him. It's the kind of intensity he gives tasks that are tough to get his head around, like something he's determined to understand, and Louis isn't sure what's going on at all.

He blinks, shifting slightly to pull back but Harry's hands don't give and he's caught, acutely aware of how they must look and that the space is full of people.

"What is it?" He sounds scared, heart racing in his chest. Harry must be able to feel his pulse where his hand is resting on Louis' neck.

"Nothing," he murmurs after what seems like a very long time, and reaches up to brush the fringe out of Louis' eyes, finally letting his hands drop.

Louis takes one step back, starts fiddling with his hair, and then turns on his heal without asking more questions. His hands are still shaking.

***

It happens again a few days later, when they're on the plane to Tokyo and everyone else seems to have fallen asleep. Louis is telling Harry about the phone conversation he had with his mum earlier, but stops when he realises that he's not listening at all. He's looking though, straight into Louis' eyes like he can see things far beyond what Louis puts out there, and in knocks the breath out of him, just with how terrifying it feels.

“Harry,” he says, swallowing thickly, and wonders what's going through his head, if he's even aware of what's happening. It seems to stretch on, the moment suspended in time as Harry stares and stares, like he can't get enough. Louis feels dirty, like he's tainted somehow and it's all written on his skin, a confession of sorts.

“Sorry,” Harry says at last, finally breaking eye contact to reach for his drink. “You were saying?”

“Nothing,” Louis replies, unsettled and restless. “I need the loo.”

When they get to the hotel, Louis has managed to forget that Eleanor's meeting him there. He forgets right up until he's joking with Zayn in the lobby and suddenly there's someone pressing into his space and kissing him gently.

There's a flash at the corner of his vision - cameras - and he has to force himself to respond naturally and take Eleanor by the hand to get them out of there as quickly as possible. He hates getting papped with her and he hates that he isn't always informed. It makes him feel exploited in a way that's so humiliating he can feel his blood start to boil under his skin, heart thumping heavy as they finally get into the lift.

"Are you alright?" she asks, still holding onto his hand, and Louis doesn't mind that so much, now they're out of sight.

"Yeah, I just, didn't know the paparazzi were going to be there."

"You're fine now," she tells him, squeezing his fingers, causing him to look up and really see her.

"Yeah," he says, taking in her skinny frame and big brown eyes, the smile that doesn't quite reach them. "Listen, we need to talk."

He sits her down in one of the plush armchairs in his hotel room, taking a seat opposite as he attempts to collect his thoughts. It's been long due, he tells himself, and things have changed. It's not just between them anymore.

"I've been thinking," he starts, taking a breath before choosing his words. "And I'm not sure this is working anymore. I mean, it's not what I want. I'm sorry."

Eleanor doesn't respond immediately, instead looking down at her hands and taking a slow breath. When she looks at him again, she seems sad, but there aren't tears.

"I guess we've been just going through the motions," she allows, like it's not surprising news.

"Yeah," Louis fidgets with his shirt, tugging it to fit better over himself. "So... Is this going to ruin your trip?"

"I'm getting to see a really interesting place, and you're paying for it. I think I'll recover," she smiles, and it's a relief that El's never been one for drama.

"I'm sorry," he says again, "I just had to say it now before... You know."

"Yeah, of course," she nods, sweeping her long hair over her shoulder gracefully. "It's better to be honest about it."

"So you're not mad?"

"I'm not mad. But I expect you to be a gentleman about it and make me tea."

Louis huffs out a laugh and gets to his feet, spending some time in silence to just focus on his task. He doesn't feel much of anything, and that in itself is quite relieving. It probably will get more difficult from now on, without a decent relationship to hide behind, but he's been wasting her time for too long, he tells himself, and refuses to admit that Harry has anything to do with it. Harry should mind his own business, either way.

They lounge on the bed with Netflix hooked up to the TV, and relax in relative silence. It's nice to be with her again, but a part of Louis is relieved to not have this looming over him any more. It never suited him, and he needs someone in his relationship that appreciates all his personality traits rather than just allowing a few of them and ignoring others. This was never going to last.

And maybe this is what Harry's been trying to tell him.

"What are you thinking about?" Eleanor asks suddenly, shifting closer so their arms line up, shoulder to shoulder.

"Nothing," Louis replies, because he can't very well tell the truth.

She hums, stroking a finger down the inside of his wrist, and he finds himself moving into it, turning so he can get a hand on her waist, feeling the warmth there, spreading through his fingertips.

"Would it be wrong-?" he starts but she silences him with her mouth, quick and efficient in the way she licks his lips open, pressing close while the TV flickers in the background.

Louis' turned on, his body having been neglected in recent weeks as his mind got loud. Distantly, he's almost surprised that she can still do it for him, but then, he's never been massively picky, and she's not far off from the younger boys he's picked up, really.

He shifts, pulling them both down so they're not at an angle, sighing when her leg slips between his and she bites just enough on his lower lip to have him sliding a hand under her shirt. It's always been easy to do this with Eleanor, and Louis half suspects it's why they've lasted as long as they did. She's a pretty good shag, and Louis appreciates that a lot these days.

That said, this has to be the last time, with her. And probably with girls, at all. He can't lie to himself any more, and Eleanor doesn't need to have him hanging around and jeopardising her relationships. So he makes sure they both really enjoy it, reaching to unclip her bra and twisting so she's trapped under him, taking up the role he always has when he's with her. She seems to enjoy being pinned down, but probably not as much as Louis does, though he's never told her that.

He undresses her quickly, struggling out of his own clothes as best as he can while Eleanor looks through his wallet for a condom. She smiles a little triumphantly when she finds it and Louis can't help but laugh breathlessly, leaning down to bite her shoulder before snatching it from her hands. She looks peaceful as she falls back, waiting, and Louis decides to come back down to kiss her, once he's inside. There's no harm in making it as sweet as he can, saying goodbye properly, in the only way he seems to know how.

They have that plan mutually, it seems, given how Eleanor moves herself to the perfect angle for them both to feel good, pulling on his hair in the way she knows he enjoys.

Louis tries to keep himself quiet, having realised long ago that his whimpers aren't particularly manly, but El whispers that he should be himself for this, that she wants to hear him, so he lets their lips stay close enough to kiss without the last step, not holding back when his breath catches on a sigh that's pitched higher than hers, and is rewarded with all the pretty sounds she can make when he gets it just right.

He comes first, and stays in her arms long enough to let his heart slow down before crawling down her body to finish her off. It's not that he minds doing it, but it doesn't put him in that nice headspace that having a cock down his throat does. She isn't capable of making him feel used, and sometimes he needs that. Most of the time, he needs that.

He lies with his head on her thigh for a long time afterwards while she cards her fingers through his hair. It'll have to be the last time, he decides again, and maybe he should just lay off sex in general for a time. It's risky, and he's always so drunk, and it's better with Stan. Maybe he should just keep to Stan.

"Louis?"

"Hm?"

"Are you in love with someone else?"

Louis doesn't answer for a minute, keeping his eyes closed while she continues to pet him. Lying again feels weird, but he doesn't want to tell anybody else.

"Yeah. But I don't think it's going to work, so I've not tried anything. Not worth the risk."

She hums, going quiet as she contemplates his answer. "Do the boys know? Does Harry?"

"They know, but I didn't mean to talk about it." If he doesn't mention Harry, it isn't lying, it's just tactfully ignoring the second question in favour of the first one.

"Long time?"

And there it is. He has to lie, or it'll just be cruel. "Just long enough for it to be unfair to you," he manages, and pushes himself up, reaching for his clothes.

"I feel like I should be more upset," she tells him and Louis stops to give her his attention. "But I think I want something else too."

He taps her ankle, giving a weak smile. "Good," he says. "Then you should go find it."

"You too," she nods.

Louis refuses to let himself feel it.

***

Eleanor takes off for a bit, wanting to explore the town without Louis and his obvious bodyguard, so Louis stays in his room, content to sprawl out on the sheets and take it easy. He's earned it; a lot has happened today.

There's a careful knock on the door, and when Louis calls that it's open, Harry's there with cups of tea from his own room, smiling a bit. "Thought you'd need it."

"Have you been spying on me, Harold?" Louis smiles, reaching out for it. It's either 'let's talk about why you haven't broken up with her' tea or 'I'm proud of you' tea, and he's not sure which would be a better theme of conversation.

"Yeah," Harry admits like it isn't an admission at all, and sits down by Louis' feet, sipping his tea sagely.

"And?"

"And nothing."

"You're full of shit," Louis states and pushes himself up a bit more. "And for your information, I told her the truth."

Harry's smile falters. "The truth?"

"The one about not being in love with her," Louis explains, feeling his cheeks heat up. "We broke up."

"But she doesn't know you're gay?"

It's the first time Harry's said it out loud, and it sounds a little sharp, a little scratchy and uncomfortable down Louis' throat as he swallows.

It's not really a word he's sure he wants to use for himself. Not when it has so much power, could so easily become all people recognise him as. He squirms away from the term, dragging one knee up to an angle like a barrier between himself and Harry's possible attempts to make him commit to it.

"No, I didn't think it mattered. I was already breaking up with her. Did you want me to go into detail about how I know what I prefer?"

Harry winces, and maybe that's a bit far, making a direct reference like that, but it's out there now. Louis taps Harry's knee with his foot in silent apology, ending up resting on him.

"Why don't you want to come out?" Harry asks at length after they've both sipped their teas and pretended this conversation is going to get easier.

"I told you," Louis says quietly. "I don't want to be reduced to just that. It would be blown out of proportion and everything would change. What's the point?"

"The point is that you could have a relationship with a man."

Louis hates hearing the words from Harry's mouth. He hates how it feels like Harry's somehow better than him, just because he _doesn't_ have to go through all that.

"What do you know about it anyway?" He snaps irritably. "You don't know what I want."

"Maybe not," Harry nods, always agreeing with Louis when he gets angry, so selfless in how he just accepts when he's not in the right. It's so annoyingly kind. "But you do. You shouldn't hold back because of what other people will think."

Louis sighs, because for someone younger than him, Harry has a lot of good ideas. Many terrible ones, too, though. "I'm not ready for that kind of pressure or attention, yet. I'm out to you and the boys, that's all that matters."

"What about your mum?"

"I'll work that out later."

"But you told us by accident," Harry presses. "How long would it have taken if it was your choice?"

"Maybe forever," Louis shrugs defiantly, feeling cornered and all kinds of wrong in his own skin. "You can't fucking label me for your own convenience. You're not better than me."

"No," Harry shakes his head, suddenly reaching out to grab Louis' ankle, squeezing. "I'm not, and you're pretty fucking perfect."

Louis looks at him for a moment, seeking out traces of him being angry about all this, but he still just looks calm and content, thumb stroking over the triangle tattoo and smiling faintly. It's not fair, that Harry looks so beautiful all the time.

"I already knew that, thanks," he forces, worn out from trying to tell why Harry keeps doing weird things near him. He grips the tea a little tighter, trying to focus on it rather than his heartbeat increasing. "Didn't need to hear it from you, mate."

"No, I guess not," Harry smiles more, and it's so weird, Louis almost asks outright what's been going on with him, but the answer might be something he's not ready to hear.

"How did she take it?"

It takes Louis several seconds to work out what he's talking about, still caught up in Harry's weird smile and very aware of Harry's fingers on his bare skin, under the hem of his trousers.

"It was mutual," Louis murmurs once he gets it.

"That why you slept with her?"

Louis stills completely. "How the fuck do you know that?"

"I can see it," Harry answers without a trace of hesitance. "You've been tense, lately."

Louis is half sure Harry was pressed up against the door, listening to him having sex, but that's definitely a bad image to have while laying vulnerably close to the best friend in question. He squares his shoulders a bit, frowning.

"So if you apparently know when I've been having sex, did you know I was going out to get laid all the time?"

"Well, I had suspicions," Harry shrugs, "but I thought it'd be girls. Or even El, but I couldn't work out why you wouldn't bring her home to our place."

Harry's basically known the whole fucking time, and he never thought he should talk about it. Louis is about to call him out on it, but that's essentially what he's been doing, too.

So he deflates instead, suddenly hating the fact that they've been keeping so many secrets, because he never meant to be like this, and he never meant to fall in love with his best friend, and Harry's too good, too good to him even now.

"Hazza," he croaks and it's all it takes for Harry to put his tea down methodically before crawling over to wrap Louis up in his arms. He smells like scented candles and the detergent in their cupboard at home.

It's really stupid that he carries those damn candles all over the tour, but Louis suddenly really thinks they need one. All it takes is for Louis to obviously breathe him in a few times for Harry to drag out his phone and send a text. Minutes later, Niall turns up with a little wooden box, and hands it over, smiling at them both widely. "Glad you're both getting along again," he admits, backing out again to give them space. Harry lights one of the stupid candles that Louis will pretend he didn't want, and it's actually really helpful. If he closes his eyes and lets himself sink against Harry's chest, it's like they're at home, and none of his problems are close enough to bother thinking about.

"I have incense if you want that, and we can do some guided mindfulness meditation," Harry offers, always sounding far too hopeful in spite of Louis never saying yes. They both know he'd last five minutes, tops.

"No thanks," Louis mumbles, which is far more polite than usual, and squirms a little against Harry's chest, trying to find a better position. Harry tilts his head above him, rearranging his arms, and just when Louis looks up, Harry leans down, their noses brushing momentarily before Harry presses his lips to Louis' in a single determined motion.

It's a quick thing, chaste, and it's over as soon as it happens, but Louis can feel it like a hot surge of heat through his body, mouth going dry, heart rate picking up, and his face must be flushing dark red though Harry can't see it with the way Louis' ducked his head, pretending his world isn't being shook at the very core.

He waits for a minute, ready for Harry to give an explanation, but it never comes, and Louis is forced to hide more, because there's no way he's starting the conversation, and Harry seems happy to act like that's something they've done a hundred times before.

Harry's breaths even out, and he falls asleep in minutes with his arms close around Louis, with a grip strong enough that he couldn't leave even if he had the strength to try.

He just hopes Eleanor doesn't come back and see it.

***

They stay in Tokyo for another week, only performing for a couple of days but having a nine day break before they need to be in Singapore. Everything seems to mostly be a controlled burst of chaotic swarming around and inside their hotel, for which Louis has no patience at all. So he withdraws, avoiding even their own crew, and tries his best to keep busy in his hotel room. Harry, however, won't have it.

He sends him audio files, dumb lyric changes to songs that aren't theirs, when Louis refuses to open the door. When he orders food from downstairs, it somehow gets hijacked along the way, and arrives at Louis' door with Harry as the delivery boy, sporting the apron that food staff wear, and smiling like an idiot.

"Room service," he announces in his best camp American, and it's enough to make Louis start giggling, so he's allowed inside.

"Did you pay off my waiter to do that?"

"Yes," Harry admits straight away, "because you never sent me any files back and that's rude," he pauses for a beat, "I missed you."

"It's been, like, one day," Louis sighs, picking through all the bad food and finding the chocolate bars triumphantly.

"I know, it's awful."

"Always so dramatic," Louis says flatly and sprawls out on the bed, showing as much of the bar as possible into his mouth.

"I thought we could go out," Harry announces, tapping Louis' foot to get his attention. "Maybe get one of those karaoke booths that you like."

" _I_ like?" Louis questions and props himself up on his elbows. Harry looks breathtaking when he meets his eyes, and Louis forgets how he was supposed to continue, trapped under Harry's gaze. It's scary, and Louis can't stop thinking about that kiss.

"I like them, too, but you're such a performer," Harry smiles, but the intensity is still there, like he's trying really hard to win Louis over by making him uncomfortably self-aware.

"Anyone else invited?"

"I haven't asked. You've been pretending we don't exist, so I wasn't sure if it was okay." He makes it sound like he needs to feel guilty, and Louis doesn't appreciate that, so he ignores Harry some more, paying closer attention to the bar of chocolate that really gets him, and knows how to treat him right.

"Will there be jelly shots?" he asks after a sufficient amount of time.

"As many as you like."

"And I get to sing at least every other song?"

"Without interruption," Harry promises, caressing Louis' foot in a way that makes the hairs there stand on end.

"Alright," Louis says, pulling his foot out of Harry's grip. "I'll round up the boys. You can get Preston."

And that's how, several hours later, Louis can't taste anything but the sweetness of jelly masking the high amounts of alcohol, and is nearly crying over how terrible Niall is at Elvis songs.

Harry's had as much to drink as Louis has, maybe a bit more. He's not as good at holding it, hasn't had as much experience. Sweet, really, how it doesn't take much to get the world's biggest rockstar tipsy. He's sprawled on the couch that curves around the room, watching the others and half looking out over the city, looking like he isn't used to the new sights yet. It's clearly been a while since he got drunk, probably since the launch night of the tour.

Zayn tries to pick a song, but Harry interjects, backed up by Liam, and announces that Louis' entitled to every other song, and it's his turn now. It's nice that he can count on his boys to uphold a deal, even if they're on their way to wasted.

He picks "Like A Virgin" and feels drunk enough to pull out his best moves, knowing fully well how gay he looks. The lads clap their hands and whistle at him, urging him on, but Harry sits quietly, his full attention on Louis now, as if he's performing only for him. Maybe he is a little bit.

This was probably a terrible idea. All of it, from the song choice to the way he semi-jokingly directs some of the lines towards Harry in how his hips move and his free hand slides down himself. Nobody else seems to notice Harry's intense interest in him, so he pretends not to, either, and hands off the microphone when he's done, giving in to Zayn's shouts of wanting to do a duet with Liam. There's not much space, with how everyone is just lounging, so Louis takes a chance, aiming to startle Harry out of his weird mood by landing in his lap and lightly tapping his face with his palm.

"Hey Curly, stop looking so weird, this is a party."

Harry's eyes look huge in the artificial light, his face pale and almost alien as he tilts his head up. Louis can feel his large hands coming up to rest over his hips, pulling him closer, and Louis' legs spread automatically on either side of Harry's body. He wonders of this is what his girls feel like, back arched and arms wrapping naturally around Harry's shoulders.

"Hey," he says, and it comes out a little breathy, like he's actually more drunk than he thinks he is.

Harry whispers a hello in answer, looking him over and reaching out, resting his palm over Louis' cheek, frowning a bit. Louis resigns himself to being stared at for a little while, and just smiles.

"You've got thin," Harry whines quietly, thumb dipping into his cheekbones. Louis shifts, a little uncomfortable, and wonders how they got to this point in their relationship, when Harry can caress his face while Louis straddles him and leans over him. This isn't what best friends do, and Louis should really put an end to it, because Harry probably doesn't know what he's doing.

"Not on purpose," Louis argues, squirming a bit, but Harry is still pinning him down with his eyes.

"Need to take care of you better," Harry mumbles and Louis definitely should protest to that but he doesn't want to be arguing and Harry says stupid shit all the time so it probably doesn't matter.

"Do you want another shot?" He asks before he can sink too far into Harry's arms, and starts extracting himself when he doesn't get a reply. Niall's looking over at them, away from Liam and Zayn's goofy performance, and it's an uncomfortable reminder of how much he knows. "Shot, Nialler?" Louis yells over the music, and then it all seems to get back to normal, at least for the time being. At least for as long as Louis can turn his back to it, to pour them the shots.

At some point Louis snags three songs in a row, and Harry takes control of the drinks. It's a terrible idea, because that boy always drinks much more than he should when he's safely with his friends, but Louis' too far into one of his favourite Grease songs to stop it happening.

Zayn, at least once, takes the bottle they're pouring shots from, and just drinks it straight. Louis knows he'll feel regret tomorrow, but for the moment, it's incredibly impressive, and they all try it to see if Zayn is as hardcore as he looks. He obviously is, and Harry nearly spits his out, gagging on it until Niall promises to pay him 1000 yen if he swallows it. When he does, Harry looks directly at Louis, and that's a bit weird, so Louis looks away and claims a few more jelly shots.

After that, he doesn't remember much. They're herded out at some point, by their security guard, and driven back to the hotel where Louis promptly lies down on the floor in the lobby, claiming he's too tired to take another step. After a lot of bribing and coaxing, however, Harry manages to pull him to his feet, half carrying him all the way to the lift where Zayn and Niall are wrestling and Liam looks like he's going to be sick. With Preston squeezed in, it's a tight fit and Louis' pressed up with his back to Harry, entertaining drunken thoughts of how nice it is to press his arse into his crotch. Harry doesn't stop him even if he wriggles a bit, and they stagger out of the elevator in a bent over sort of fashion, no worse than Zayn and Niall, really, who are just as wrapped up in their wrestling. Preston forcibly has to pry them apart, but Harry shoves Louis into his hotel room before anyone can interfere. It's a bit like their drunken nights in London, the few times they actually make it home at the same time.

It's all a blur, really, and it takes Louis a few minutes to realise that he isn't in his own room, and there's somebody else next to him that smells like alcohol, confined spaces, and sweat from how hot the room had become when they all started dancing.

"'arry?"

"Mnn," Harry's quite close, more than Louis thought.

"Why am I in your room?"

"Because Preston was gonna split us up," Harry slurs, sounding like that's something he definitely does not want to happen. "So I stole you."

"Gotta give me back some time."

"No," Harry answers, and Louis can actually hear him pouting. He considers getting up and going to his own room, how nice it would be to have his own bed, but then it hits, and he wouldn't even have his own bed.

"Where's Eleanor?"

"Probably asleep. Don't care, you're staying here," Harry's legs and arms wind around Louis, shirt already apparently not on him, and locks down so he can't leave.

"Nngh..." Louis says unintelligibly and doesn't notice how Harry's fingers slip under his t-shirt and pulls it over his head.

It doesn't feel like he's in his own body as he watches Harry get out of the rest of his clothes in front of him, or when he pushes him onto the bed and starts struggling to get Louis' jeans over his hips. It's like he doesn't know if it's supposed to be sexual or not, and he doesn't seem capable to react either way, too gone to access any sort of emotion.

Harry makes a triumphant sound, remembering to undo Louis' zip and button and leaving his clothes at the end of the bed tangled with Harry's. It's not how he prefers to sleep, without a shirt on, and he learnt along with the other boys that Harry isn't a big fan of keeping on his underwear, but he supposes friendship is about making allowances.

"Why didn't you let me go back to my own room?" Louis asks, when Harry's crawled gracelessly up beside him again and started pulling Louis closer for the closeness he craves after too much to drink.

"Because you might have had sex with her."

"So? That's not your business."

"But you already broke up and said goodbye to that part of your life. You might regret it."

"You mean _you_ might regret it," Louis slurs, and some part of him seems a bit angry, but it's not making an awful lot of sense to him either.

Harry doesn't reply. He kisses him instead.

It does work to shut Louis up, even if it's too quick to really register in his brain. He falls asleep moments after.

***

The next day is awful for all of them. Louis goes to apologise to El for being gone all night and tries not to look too hungover even if his breath probably stinks of alcohol. She flips him off and goes to hang out with Lou.

Louis realises that even if he explained that he got held hostage by Harry's weird octopus limbs, she wouldn't understand.

So all the boys pile into the tidiest room, which is surprisingly Niall's, and share out McDonald's and milkshakes while whispering about how miserably their lives are. There's space for Zayn, Liam and Louis to sit up against the pillows on the bed, but Niall and Harry drag in other covers and make a nest over the bottom half, with Harry falling in and out of sleep with his head in Louis' lap. Everyone's suffering, but Harry only wants to sleep. That, and constantly complain about wearing too many clothes for his overheated skin, but nobody lets him do anything about that beyond throwing away his shirt and changing into shorts. They're close, but not that close.

"Where's El?" Liam asks suddenly, nudging Louis' knee with his. "I haven't seen her since she got here."

"With Lou," Louis replies and remembers that he hasn't told them. Apparently Harry hasn't either. "We, um, we broke up actually," he adds even if he really doesn't want to talk about _that_ again.

"Oh," Liam breathes out, and the way all three of them instantly turn to Harry makes something cold settle in Louis' lap, body suddenly alert and ready to run.

"It was mutual," he hurries to say before anyone else can open their mouth. "She wanted it too." Harry's got his eyes closed and Louis has no idea how much he's actually picking up.

"And-" Liam begins but Louis pinches his leg hard and interrupts.

"And we're still friends."

Liam nods, but he doesn't look like he's done asking questions. Everyone has their gaze on Harry, but he seems completely out of it. As a test, Louis shifts his leg, and pets Harry's hair, but all he gets in return is Harry moving to accommodate him without being woken, and a pleased exhalation. Definitely not entirely conscious.

Liam points at Harry, and then at Louis, and makes gestures between them that probably mean "are you together now?" Louis blushes, hard, and shakes his head, slapping Liam's hand away and wondering why his friends are so embarrassing.

Niall waves an arm to catch their attention, reaches for his phone, and sends out a group text to everyone but Harry, stating "I saw you two looking really close last night. Have you even talked?"

"Is this really the time?" Louis sends and gets a massive chorus of affirmatives directed at him. They must look really stupid, all with their phones out while sitting in complete silence.

"He knows about the break up. That's it," Louis types forcefully, attention mostly on Harry to make sure he doesn't open his eyes.

"Why don't you just tell him you love him?" Liam replies and Louis cringes a little at that, glaring at him before answering, "And fuck up my entire life? I already have all the answers I need. There might come a time when I can get out and get over him but as it is we're stuck in this. Even if I get my own house and stop being his mate we're still in the same band! And you people would get in between and everything would be unbearable!!!"

He slumps back once it's posted, a final statement on the tragic state of his life.

"But isn't it already?" Niall writes then, and Louis climbs right out of bed, waking Harry, unsettling everyone, before he strides out the door and slams it hard behind him.

He's seething in his room, because there's nowhere else to go, when there's a quiet knock at his door. He expects it to be Harry, bleary eyed and asking him to come back, so he starts to form an argument right away, but it's not needed.

Niall looks sheepishly at Louis and squeezes past him. "Look, mate," he starts, as soon as the door is closed so Harry can't walk in, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to piss you off."

Louis doesn't reply. He isn't particularly angry at Niall, but anger is easier to handle than the guilt, sorrow and regret that's been building for so long that it's starting to break him apart at the seams. He's leaning back against the wall, focusing more on standing up than Niall's words.

"I'm just trying to understand," he's saying, and Louis looks at him through bleary eyes, head tilted back to rest against the blotchy wallpaper.

"What's so difficult about it?" He asks tiredly. "It's called self-preservation, though I suppose you haven't had much experience."

"I get that you're afraid," Niall insists, oddly serious and twitchy where he's standing just inside the door, like he's ready to leave at any given moment. "But things change, mate. Harry's changed. What if he's just as scared as you are?"

"Harry's always been weird, this is barely any different," Louis shakes his head. It's wishful thinking from all of them, to suggest that Harry might feel the same.

"But he's not acting like his usual weird, you know that," Niall sighs, digging his hands into his pockets. "Look, I'm far too hungover to deal with all this, and if you tell anyone I got this sentimental I'll smack you. But maybe you're so stuck in how things were between you four years ago, and you haven't thought about how Harry is doing. He was just a kid, and hadn't been given time to find himself, or get to know you as well as he does now. All that weird staring he does? Maybe it isn't just about _your_ feelings."

Louis stares at Niall, amazed at how observant he's apparently been.

"But that's just my theory. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my area of the bed before Harry's stupid body takes it all up."

The door closes behind him, and Louis doesn't follow. Slowly, he walks across the floor, finds the kettle and the tea where he's left it, and proceeds to make himself a cup on autopilot as his mind spins and spins in his head. He hasn't actively considered it, is the thing, for so long. There was a time where he'd hope, every day and every time Harry smiled at him, or talked to him, or held him close like they were more than just two teenagers thrown into the same boat. But he'd stopped somewhere along the line, of course he had, because people don't survive that kind of delusion when it's at the constant expanse of their sanity. He'd chosen Eleanor, and he'd chosen to accept that Harry was his only in the ways _Harry_ chose. He'd left it all behind, and Niall has no right to bring it all back.

But now the words won't leave his head, and he's stuck in a circle of thoughts. Maybe Harry is waiting for proper confirmation? Maybe he felt the same, years ago, and buried it when he thought Louis would turn him down. That would be one of the most ridiculous things Harry has ever done. As if anybody could turn him down.

Louis feels tense, stressed, and completely lost in it all, now. How could he have let this get so out of hand? Everything has moved beyond his control, now, and he doesn't take well to situations he has no hold over. But, his mind repeats, Harry isn't like that. Harry isn't like _him_. If he feels something, anything like that at all, then why are they still here? Why are they running in circles? And he refuses to believe that something so big can be deterred for so long. If it was, if it ever existed, then it should have made itself known.

No, he decides, slumping to the floor by the bed, leaning back with the cup of tea still clutched in his hands, exhausted. For them, there is no happy ending.

***

The tour continues, and Louis deletes the group text from his phone every time one of them tries to start it again. Things mostly go back to normal, though Harry tries to sneak into Louis' bed to sleep and Louis reminds him that they've got a rule about this, and sends him back to his room with threats to make Preston drag him and guard the door.

It's manageable, the whole thing, and maybe he should consider himself lucky, in light of all the awful things he's done in the name of surviving. Maybe he should be grateful. But mostly, he's just tired and stressed, wishing he could go back home to his mum, and Stan. Stan would know how to deal with Harry properly, or at least be able to calm Louis down.

As it is, Louis can't seem to get the right amount of sleep, and spends as much time as possible curled up alone with music in his headphones, hoping that he can get some rest and magically be revived, open his eyes to a world where he isn't out of his comfort and unaware of how to make things okay on his own terms again.

It's late March and nearing the end of the second leg of the tour when Harry comes to him after a show, using a key card he must have stolen from somewhere to let himself into Louis' room. He's lying on the couch rather than the bed, because the plan wasn't to sleep, but he's half out of it anyway, when Harry sits down and lifts Louis' feet so he can hold them in his lap.

"What's wrong?" Harry asks him before anything else can be said, and Louis tries to turn onto his back a little, so he can see him better. He shakes his head fuzzily. "You're sad," Harry continues quietly, "And it feels like it's my fault."

Louis shakes his head again, because he's unprepared to deal with Harry trying to fix his problems. "I'm just really worn down at the moment."

Harry frowns at that, but then he's moving, and Louis has a tangle of arms around him, wrapped up in warm affection.

"Then catch some sleep," Harry whispers into his hair.

"Sleep is all I do," Louis mumbles, turning his head towards Harry, feeling light stubble brush over his cheek.

"You'll be alright," Harry promises, finding Louis' mouth and pressing a soft kiss to the corner, not quite a proper one, but enough to make Louis' lips tingle.

And he doesn't know what's different about this time, maybe it's how he can't really see Harry's eyes for all the hair in between or maybe he's just that tired of keeping up the pretence - maybe he's just fed up with Harry taking what he wants from him - but he reaches out this time and brings Harry's mouth back, pressing a kiss there that can't be mistaken for anything else.

And it's clumsy and the angle's awkward with Harry lying half on top of him, but it's still the best bloody kiss Louis' had and it's worth it, just to feel Harry's breath catch in his throat when it doesn't end.

Harry turns them both a bit more, so that Louis is completely on his back with Harry securing him there. He's ready for it to stop at any time, for Harry to insist they talk about it, but it doesn't. They keep going, with Harry making quiet little sounds like he's never been happier than settled with his legs pressed in between Louis' and their tongues meeting gently. It's when one of Harry's hands closes softly over Louis' hip that things begin falling out of control again.

He's barely aware of what's happening, so focused on the fact that he's kissing Harry that he misses the way his body reacts to it, pressing closer, arching up, letting Harry grind down in small circles of his hips until it's almost unbearable. He tries to wrap his fingers in Harry's shirt but finds no strength, one of his legs falling off the couch to hang uselessly off it while Harry pushes him further into the cushions with every movement, and then Louis' head goes blank and he comes, finally turning his head away so Harry can't see it.

Harry keeps kissing along his neck while Louis slowly gets back to his senses, but by then he feels far too self-aware, can feel his body heated up where Harry is touching him, still pressed against him in all the places that are too sensitive, and he needs to get out of the space, get some air back into his lungs before he chokes on how this is so fucking unfair.

He can feel a smile tucked against his throat, and his options of running or staying where he is and trying to calm down are already sorted when Harry strokes his hair and hums gently.

“Up,” Louis breathes, pushing at Harry's chest until he sits up a little and Louis can get out from under the cushions, propping himself up on his elbows. He probably looks a mess considering how he feels, cheeks burning and fringe sweaty as it falls into his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, curling his long fingers around Louis' ankle and holding it there, pressed down against the sofa.

“Fucking fantastic,” Louis says flatly, wondering how the hell they're supposed to move on from this.

Harry smiles weakly, but he's like a mess, too, with red lips and flushed skin behind messy hair, so maybe they're both going to have trouble dealing with this, in a way.

"Do you-"

"I don't know if I want to talk about it," Louis cuts in, dragging his legs away from Harry's touch and wrapping his arms around his knees, dropping his forehead onto them. It wasn't supposed to go that far, not at all, and what kind of person gets off from kissing and light making out? He's a wreck, honestly.

But Harry is still there, like he doesn't think it's all that awful, and that's almost the worst part.

"You're gorgeous," Louis hears him say, feeling a light touch to his cheek. "Don't hide."

"I'm not hiding," he mumbles, lifting his head a little to prove his point. Harry strokes his cheek again.

"I should have kissed you sooner," he states.

"You did, and it was fucking weird."

"I'm sorry."

"Harry," Louis sighs. "What is this to you?"

Harry looks a little caught out.

"You know I don't really go for relationships until I think there's a chance of them working out," he starts, and Louis rolls his eyes, remembering all the times Harry came home drunk and heartbroken because this girl wasn't _The One_ and he had to start over.

"Yeah, I think I vaguely remember your weird obsession with love."

Harry blushes, fiddling with his rings.

"Well, with you... I think we've sort of been working up to being something big for a while. I'd like to try, with you."

"And why didn't you say something sooner?" Louis raises an eyebrow, immune to Harry's sappy thoughts by now.

"Because you didn't show signs of being interested in me, so I stayed back in case Eleanor was it for you," Harry frowns, looking uncomfortable when Louis starts laughing humourlessly.

"Which version of me have you been touring with? None of that sounds like I've been living it."

“So what is it then?”

“Babe,” Louis says, watching Harry's face soften immediately, feeling something loosen in his chest as he finally gives in, “I fucking love you. I've been fucking myself over because I love you, more times than I can count. I swore never to tell you any of this and look where it got me. You mess with my head, and you fuck everything up, but I love you, and it sucks, but I do.” He takes a breath, squeezing his own wrist in his hand before nodding, almost more to himself than to Harry. It's done, he thinks, closing his eyes tiredly. It's finally bloody done.

He waits, not sure if he actually cares what Harry does now.

There's silence for a short span of time that Louis doesn't care to count, and then there are hands framing his face, tilting his head up before lips close over his again, and Harry is crouched over him like he's something precious and delicate.

And he lets it happen, because Harry tastes just like he'd imagined and he hasn't been kissed like this for a long time.

"How long?" Harry mumbles as he pulls back a little, brushing his nose against Louis' cheek.

"Since the start," he replies.

"And you never told me."

"I never told you," Louis agrees, chasing Harry's lips and reaching out to pull him close again.

"But you knew how badly I wanted to be a love story," Harry whines a little, but Louis makes shushing sounds into his mouth and lets his knees slip down, so Harry can crawl into his lap in a mess of limbs and bury hands into his hair.

It's almost worth it, to wait this long, because it feels euphoric to have Harry snug against him, eagerly kissing him as if he's the most desirable person in the world, and he's never needed this kind of affectionate, heated intimacy more than now.

"I want you to be mine," Harry tells him, suddenly pulling back with kiss swollen lips and glassy eyes.

"I am yours," Louis says as if it's obvious.

"But I want to wake up with you and hold your hand and have family dinners with you."

Louis laughs weakly. "Of course you do."

"I love you," Harry says then, and Louis goes limp in his grasp. "It's never been like this with anyone else, and I didn't understand it at first but I think I do now. I think this is how it's supposed to feel."

Louis wants to make a comment about how Harry is more in love with love than he probably is with Louis, but he can't find energy to do it. So he nuzzles into Harry, taking comfort in his warmth and how soft the jumper he's wearing is. It might be one of Liam's, the way it doesn't quite fit his shoulders.

Harry keeps whispering "I love you" into his skin like he's hoping to imprint it into him, and Louis should have been ready for how romantic and stupid Harry would be the minute he knew his feelings were reciprocated, but he had no idea this would even be happening, so Louis closes his eyes and breathes, letting the words wash over him.

"I'm going to take you to bed now," Harry tells him suddenly, and somehow manages to lift Louis right up from the couch. His joggers are sticky and uncomfortable, and his arms feel so weak where they wrap around Harry's neck, but he's not going to take this from them. Not when Harry's decided that he wants to do things to Louis that he hasn't done to anyone before.

"You haven't fucked any boys, have you?" he asks anyway, just to be sure, and feels a little relieved when Harry shakes his head.

"You're the only boy I wanna fuck," he mumbles, dropping Louis onto the bed and going to turn the lights off.

Louis just lays there, letting the words spin through his head, and watches Harry turn the light down and walk back over, like everything has to be perfect.

"No candles?"

"In my room," Harry sounds so pitiful that Louis can't help but laugh, pulling him onto the bed and hooking a leg around his thighs.

"We'll get candles next time, Haz," he promises, smiling at the comforted sigh he makes before reaching for the hem of Louis shirt and hooking it over his thumbs so that his fingers can slide over Louis' chest when he pushes the fabric up and over his head. It's a smooth thing to do, since his fingers catch his nipples, making him gasp a bit, and instantly telling Harry what he likes.

"Sensitive?" he comments, leaning down to lick at them teasingly.

"You already know that," Louis breathes, because Harry does and it's the first time he's really reflected over it.

"What else do you like?" He sits back after a bit to undo his own shirt, one button at a time, waiting for Louis to answer.

But it's hard, because he's spent so much time thinking about this that he finds himself fumbling for words. With Harry, it's not going to be a matter of likes and dislikes, only trust.

"I like you," Louis replies at last. "I like your hands on me, and your lips, and I'm going to like whatever you want to do with me."

"That's so vague," Harry answers thoughtfully, looking at him as his shirt finally slips from his shoulders and he's able to lean forward again, running his hands across Louis' torso and getting to know how well his hand fits against Louis' waist. When his hands curl around Louis' hips so he can lean down and start kissing him, it takes all he has not to press up and make some embarrassing sound. He's already made a mess of himself too early on, so he needs to show Harry that he can be contained.

"I liked those sounds you made earlier," Harry murmurs, ghosting his breath over Louis' skin as he tries to suck bruises onto his stomach that stubbornly refuse to linger.

"Yeah?" Louis threads a hand into Harry's hair, and tries to ignore the surge of heat the announcement gives. It gets worse when Harry inhales at the slight tug of Louis' hand. He hadn't expected it to have that big an effect so early on.

“Love your voice,” Harry mumbles, hooking his fingers in Louis' waistband and tugging, slowly, slowly, getting his pants on the way until Louis' fully exposed and shivering, allowing Harry to pull them past his knees and ankles, crawling between his knees.

When he licks a stripe right across Louis' half hard cock, getting some of the come there, he can't hold back a whimper. It's weird and hot and all sorts of disorientating to have Harry in his personal space like this, but it's also a comfort, so far removed from the kind of hookups Louis' used to.

“You taste good,” Harry tells him, barely sounding surprised as he laps at Louis' skin like a cat, and he doesn't know if Harry's going for a blow job or not but he doesn't want to ask, doesn't want disturb the quiet that's fallen over them, wrapping them up in each other so tight.

Harry seems weirdly calm to be settled in his lap, cleaning him up slowly across his thighs. Louis doesn't want to ask what his method is, how he stops himself from freaking out if this really is his first time with a boy, but then Harry finishes what he was focused on, and goes back to licking up along Louis' cock, eyes watching for Louis' reaction before closing his lips around him, working to take him into his mouth.

He looks born for it, truth be told, and seems to be experiencing the same kind of spaced out mindset that Louis loves about it.

He's unable to watch him for long though, because this is his Harry, and he looks so grown up, far from the innocent little boy Louis had first fallen in love with. It's obscene to see him like this, with his mouth full and eyes glassy like he loves every second of it, like he can't get enough. And then he pulls off only to go lower, wrapping his fingers around him while licking between his cheeks, trying to find Louis' hole.

"Fuck..." he breathes out, tugging at Harry's hair to get him to look up. "Hazza, babe?" Harry hums and licks his lips. "Do you really want to do that?"

"I really want to do that," he nods.

"Okay," Louis whispers, giving Harry's hair a final stroke before turning over, spreading his legs either side of him to give him the space he needs.

Harry makes an appreciative sound, like he hadn't considered asking Louis to move, and that only adds to the tugging at Louis' heart, because Harry is _so_ willing to try anything Louis lets him do, and it would be endearing if it wasn't so hot.

Harry goes in again, easily letting his fingers dig into soft skin and push it aside so he can get closer.

He's expecting Harry to do what everyone does, starting outside and getting Louis to relax before pushing in, but of course nobody told Harry proper rimming etiquette, so he skips the prep and his tongue pushes into Louis with very little warning. It's distantly a bit much, given how sensitive he feels, but it's just the right amount of too much to have Louis crying out his name and arching back against him, trying to make him do it again.

Harry squeezes his bum and keeps licking, clearly trying to get as deep as possible, and it's good, even if there's a lot of drool and slurpy sounds that seem to echo a bit in the silence of the room. Louis thinks he could probably come like this, given the chance.

Harry stops after a minute or two though, brushing a finger over his hole instead, and Louis thinks he gets it now, how Harry just wants to understand his body in a way that makes sense to him, learning by trying anything he can think of.

"There's lube in the bathroom if you want," Louis mumbles, turning his head so he can catch a glimpse of Harry's face. "In my bag."

Harry looks amazing, still a little dazed and transfixed by Louis spread out for him.

The words apparently take a few seconds to process and sink in, but then he's scampering off the bed to the bathroom, returning half a minute later to lay down between Louis' legs again, like he wants to stay as close as he can to whatever he's doing. Louis managed to fit a pillow under his hips while Harry was gone, and the new angle earns him a few more licks, pushing deep while he empties some of the lube onto his fingers.

"So, do I just..." Harry starts once he's repositioned himself, leaning against the inside of Louis' thigh as he presses a finger into him, and Louis somehow in the last few minutes completely forgot how massive Harry's hands would feel compared to his own, compared to most of the men he's gone home with.

"Yeah, just push one in slowly," Louis tells him quietly, burying his face in his arms as he can't help but feel a bit vulnerable, despite being in charge. "Like that, yeah, that's good."

Harry pushes in deep before drawing out again, repeating the motion until Louis' confident he can take another.

"Now add one," he instructs. "Keep them close together, go slow." He's panting a little by now, cock trapped between his stomach and the bed, rubbing hotly against the sheets. "You can scissor them a little," he whispers. "Get the muscle to relax. Fuck, yeah, that's it."

"Does it hurt?" Harry asks quietly and Louis shakes his head into his arms.

"No, it doesn't hurt. Go a bit deeper and curve them down. Deeper. Try to find, fuck, the ridge, yeah."

"Is that your prostate?"

"Mhm," Louis whines, a little high-pitched as Harry prods at it again, making heat surge all along Louis' spine.

He can hear what might be Harry swearing, breath hot where he's given up pressing actual kisses to his skin and is now just breathing shakily, but that's so beyond what Louis can think about. It feels amazing, and knowing it's Harry is only adding to that.

"Add another," Louis forces, when he's sure that two isn't enough any more, and the shift into an extra finger feels great, but then Harry is tracing his tongue around his fingers, like he can't help himself, and that's one of the best things he's ever felt.

"Fuck, baby, that's so good," Louis babbles, encouraging him as best as he can while trying to keep himself from getting off on the sheets. Harry keeps hitting his prostate, somewhat confident now about where it is.

"I found a condom," Harry rasps out then, and Louis has to squeeze his eyes shut, breathing deep to calm himself.

"Do you want to fuck me?" he asks weakly, panting against the pillow.

"Please," Harry moans. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Louis sighs, feeling Harry's fingers slip out gently as he starts fumbling to get the packet open.

There's a moment when Louis is just waiting, eyes closed and breathing shallow as he listens to Harry struggling out of his jeans, probably made worse by how they're both a little sweaty from what they've been doing, but then Harry's hands are on him, gently coaxing Louis to turn until he's sprawled out on his back, looking up at him through a damp fringe as Harry crawls between his legs.

They keep eye contact even as Harry pushes into him, slowly at first, and when Louis has to close his eyes because everything is too good and he can't breathe, knowing Harry is still watching. And god knows he plays into that, arching his back in a way that he _knows_ looks obscene, just to hear Harry stutter his breathing.

“Baby...” he mumbles, bending over him and cradling his face with one trembling hand, and he sounds so amazed, so humbled, and Louis feels so loved. “You're so perfect,” he chokes out, pushing all the way in. “So, so good...”

“Come here,” Louis whispers, because he can't bear to have Harry look at him like that any longer. He reaches out, tangling fingers in Harry's beautiful hair, holding him close as he rolls his hips against him, showing that he's ready.

“How does it feel?”

“Big,” Louis confesses because it's all he can think about. Harry chuckles unsteadily against his neck.

“Is that good?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Harry sounds pleased enough, and after a moment he pulls out confidently, almost completely, and pushes in again, gasping hot into Louis' neck and biting down a bit as he works out a rhythm that won't finish Louis too soon.

The worst part is that Harry is so gentle, so caring, like Louis is incredibly fragile and it's his first time, too. It's simultaneously the best part, because despite having lost track of all the people Louis has invited into bed - or the wall, the cubicle, anywhere at all in the right circumstances - being with Harry is safe. Safe in ways almost none of his hookups have been. Harry feels familiar, and Louis could probably forget that they haven't done this before, and convince himself that it's just been a long time, and that's why it's taking some getting used to. It's not a healthy outlook, but nothing about his interest in Harry has been very healthy for years. This is probably the first time it is.

And it's so easy to ask for what he wants, to tell Harry to go slower and angle his hips up, thrusting into him deep and just where Louis needs it, and damn if he isn't going to make him come untouched a second time simply because he's _Harry_.

And when Louis does come he can't stop calling Harry's name, so wrapped up in his presence that he can't even imagine being somewhere else, with _someone_ else, as if this really is his first and there's nothing else to compare it to.

Somewhere over him, Harry is sinking his teeth into Louis' neck, whispering his name like it's sacred as he sinks deep into him and stills, and it's all so _loving_ that Louis is having trouble breathing with Harry's unexpected weight crushing him, but it's too nice to make him move. So they stay like that for a while, Louis with his arms woven around Harry's back, and Harry pressed as close as he can, both of them panting a little. Louis doesn't even notice when he starts crying.

Harry does, however, and manages to roll them over so Louis' tucked under his arm, small and shaking and completely laid bare. He strokes his hair and his cheeks, letting him cry without interfering, because he knows it's got nothing to do with the sex, or Louis being hurt. He knows it just needs to come out.

Harry keeps petting him, brushing away tears and holding him close, and slowly, Louis feels a bit more comfortable in his own skin, a bit more like he's got some sort of control over his life again.

Harry's humming something, quietly, and it's one of the terrible bands that Louis mocks him for even finding on some weird corner of youtube. It's soothing, so he allows it this time, and sticks to nuzzling Harry's chest, trying to get his breathing back to normal.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you," Harry says after some time, when the room has gone completely dark and Louis' started to wonder if he's asleep. "I'm sorry I didn't see that you were hurting."

"I worked really hard to make sure you didn't," Louis sighs because it's only fair. He's a spectacular actor when he wants to be, to the point where not even his mother had realised something was amiss.

"Why did you put up with me?" Harry asks in a quiet voice, close to Louis' skin. "When you could have just walked away."

"I couldn't," Louis points out without having to consider it. "And I didn't want to. All of it hasn't been bad. You were still mine, in some ways."

"I should have seen it sooner, though," Harry whispers, nuzzling against Louis softly. "But I'm here now, and I've always been yours, even if neither of us recognised it properly."

Louis is a little bit convinced that his heart is going to burst with how affectionate and kind Harry is, just like he always thought it would be. But if he admits that then Harry won't stop being ridiculous about it, so he doesn't say anything, just shifts to fit a little better against him. "Go to sleep, Harry."

"Will you still be here tomorrow?" he asks, a waver of uncertainty in his voice that doesn't fit.

"Where else would I be?" Louis says, and leaves it at that, because they both know there's nowhere else at all.

***

They're supposed to be flying to Indonesia the next day for their final show before South Africa, but Louis wakes so early he's not entirely sure it's the next day yet. Harry is stroking his stomach, fingers dipping into the hair below his navel, and maybe they should try to get as much rest as possible, but Louis' body is on fire and Harry's cock is pressed against his bum, hard and insistent.

"Ready for another round?" Louis asks sleepily, smiling a little at how quickly Harry seems to be taking to it.

"I think I'm always going to be ready for another round with you," Harry whispers, kissing Louis' neck and biting on his ear gently. "You?"

Louis hums, pressing back against Harry and squirming to earn a sharp inhalation. "I don't know, love. Maybe I just need a bit of encouraging..."

Harry wastes no time in pushing two fingers into him, carefully so as not to hurt him but determined all the same. He's still wet and relaxed, could easily take Harry's cock with minimal preparation, and that's probably as much of a turn on for him as it is for Harry.

"Don't think you need any," Harry mumbles in his ear, twisting his fingers to get to Louis' prostate. Instinctively Louis reaches for his cock, coaxing it easily into full hardness.

"Alright, curly. Go find a condom and get on with it."

"Found one before I woke you up," Harry hums, moving only slightly and taking an impressively short amount of time to get the condom on before moving back against him, holding a hand over his hip and pushing in at that angle. It feels incredibly intimate, a bit more romantic than Louis is used to, but that makes it even better.

Harry seems to have noticed that Louis enjoys being moved around by someone stronger than he is, so he pulls Louis against him, easing deeper without having to actually move, and it's one of the hottest things Louis' experienced in a very long time. The sound he makes is high pitched and quavering, but Harry groans in response and bites down on his neck like he wants to coax more of those noises out of him, like he cherishes it.

They don't talk at all this time, and it doesn't feel like they need it. Louis spaces out so quickly, hand working himself in time with Harry's thrusts, tilting his head into the pillow to expose his neck to Harry's teeth without even meaning to. It's been so long since he had sex sober and even if he already had two orgasms he feels like he can't get enough, not when everything smells like Harry and it's his curls tickling Louis' face, so familiar it hurts.

They don't need long, really. With the tension that's been building between them over time and Harry's insistent hand on Louis' hip making sure he's able to go as deep as he can, it's only a matter of holding on as long as possible in order to not embarrass himself, trying not to focus too much on Harry's breath, hot against his neck where he's lost track of kissing and is just resting his lips, over what's going to be a pretty big bruise.

He's so close when Harry suddenly pushes him over, holding him down against the mattress as he fucks him fast and hard and comes with a shout that probably carries to nearby hotel rooms. Louis gets there just after, so overwhelmed by feeling Harry's orgasm all through his body, and he has to wipe his cheeks on the pillow in a futile attempt to hide that he's crying again.

“This is getting ridiculous,” he huffs when the only sound in the room is his sniffing, and Harry breathes out a quiet laugh against his neck, pressing a kiss there. “I'm not like this normally, I swear.”

“It's sweet,” Harry tells him, pulling out gently and curling around him again. “Already knew you're the crying type.”

“Not after sex,” Louis grumbles, using the sheet to wipe at his stomach listlessly.

“Well, I think the sex in question deserves it.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, closing his eyes. It definitely does.

Harry starts kissing along his neck, showing that he doesn't really mind if Louis cries every time or not, and he probably sees it as a testament of love or something.

"How early is it?" Louis finds it in himself to ask once he's calmed down and Harry shows no signs of stopping his affectionate touches. Harry pauses fractionally, enough that Louis is aware of how much he might not like the answer.

"Not even six, yet," Harry murmurs apologetically. "But I woke up and you were just _there_ , and I couldn't help it."

"Doesn't it freak you out?"

"What?"

"Just..." Louis thinks back on the first time he slept with Stan, how terrified he'd been before and even more so after when he realised he liked it. "It must be different, for you."

"Of course it's different," Harry murmurs, "because it's you. It's... Us."

Louis shakes his head, convinced he must have to word it better, because Harry doesn't seem to understand the question, but then he's being turned, and Harry starts kissing him again. There's something so overwhelmingly tender about it that pulls at Louis' heart, makes him put a conscious effort into not crying again because somehow, through some wonderful turn of events, this boy is finally his, completely and utterly. It feels weird to think that it's barely been 12 hours, but it feels natural. And none of the other boys have any idea.

"We have to tell the others," Louis whispers.

"I'm planning a big reveal, with rainbows and confetti," Harry grins. "Maybe a musical number dedicated to your bum."

"There'll be none of that," Louis says decisively, threading his fingers through Harry's hair.

"Maybe we don't need to tell them at all," Harry points out. "I doubt I'll be very good at hiding it."

"You've never been good at hiding a single thing," Louis agrees. "Including my birthday presents."

"Louis," Harry says, suddenly serious as he catches his attention. "I'm not freaked out because loving you is easy. Whether it's physical or not doesn't matter because I've had four years to get used to my feelings for you. I don't think we've ever just been friends, not really."

Louis looks at him for a long moment, tucking some strands of hair behind his ear before he hums, acknowledging but non-committal. Maybe Harry is right, and maybe he isn't, but as long as he isn't worried Louis doubts it matters.

“You're the best friend I've got,” he says with a tired smile, and Harry smiles too, warm and intimate, as they kiss.

***

There are knocks at Louis' door telling him to get up and that he's not allowed tea until he's dressed, but Louis just laughs because he learnt on the first tour to hide away resources. Harry crawls out of bed and makes drinks for them both, making a show of stretching and making sure Louis is watching the whole time as he wanders towards the shower.

"Come on, Lou," he smiles, coming back over when Louis just hides under the covers and picking him up like he weighs nothing. Louis will never admit to the screech it draws from him, but it's an effective way to get him up, and within 20 minutes they're both clean and dressed, and nobody has to know they haven't left the bed since the afternoon before.

Zayn is walking past when they emerge, but he barely looks surprised. Louis almost expected more, but then he and Harry have shared a room hundreds of times.

He's nervous over breakfast, knee jumping and fingers tapping the table cloth repeatedly until Liam grips his hand and then Louis just erupts in giggles because he can't keep it inside.

"What's wrong with him?" Niall asks, glancing at Harry, and Louis is just so, so happy. Harry looks calm.

"Nothing aside from the usual," he says with a serene smile.

Niall frowns, looking between them when Louis smiles giddily at Harry and gets a blinding grin in return. Then he swears and puts down his cutlery.

"What?" Liam asks, on alert and glancing around like he expects fans to rush in from all sides, but Niall just shakes his head, and Louis feels a foot knock into his shin.

"Hey," Niall asks with a bit too casual a tone. "Louis, mate. Got anything you wanna talk about?"

Harry glances at Louis, mouth doing that thing when he's trying hard not to smile. He's always been shit at this sort of thing.

"What about?" Louis replies, equally casual as he reaches for his tea.

"Oh, I dunno," Niall says, way too loudly. "Maybe about why Harry slept in your room last night?"

Liam looks like a left out puppy, and Zayn leans over to confirm that Harry was, in fact, seen leaving Louis' room earlier.

"That's nothing new, Niall," Louis points out. "Harry's snuck into my room more times than any of us can count."

"But look at you both! You're practically glowing!" Niall's definitely caught on, but it's a matter of how hard he needs to try to convince the others. Louis isn't quite sure why he hasn't just admitted it yet, but Harry is staying completely quiet, head down towards his tea and refusing to join in.

"I'm not pregnant!" Louis exclaims.

"Are you sure?"

"Hang on," Liam interjects. "Why's Louis pregnant?"

"Maybe you should ask Harry that," Zayn snickers, and Harry finally cracks, trying to hide behind his tea cup.

Liam looks at them both sternly, the picture of someone trying to take a situation seriously. "Harry," he starts, knowing the weaker link immediately.

"Hmm?" Harry starts drinking his tea, wrapping his hands around the cup and drowning it in his palms.

"Did you use protection when bedding our precious Louis?" he asks, and Niall loses it, looking like he's about to cry from trying not to laugh.

"What are your intentions towards our son?" Zayn asks, smiling when Harry actually blushes, ducking his head behind his curls and biting his lip.

Louis, for his part, is mortified. It's terrifying when Liam and Zayn start acting like the parents of their group. He was hoping for a little more surprise, but apparently he isn't going to get that today.

"Shut up," he grumbles from his seat but no one is actually listening to him anymore.

"Are you planning on making a respectable man out of him?" Liam goes on.

"I think we should ask him," Harry manages, and shifts in his seat to finally look at Louis. He's still looking like a love struck idiot, with a smile almost too big for his face, but he reaches out and wraps his fingers around Louis'.

"Lou, will you let me be your respectable boyfriend?"

"I don't know," Louis shrugs, not moving his hands from under Harry's, "maybe I'm not ready to be all spoken for, yet."

"Oh, come on!" Niall cries while the others make scandalised noises. "You've been dying for this since bootcamp, mate!"

Harry looks up then, smile vanished as he eyes Niall uncertainly. "You knew?" he asks, looking back at Louis.

Suddenly the others are very busy tidying up the table and finishing their food, and Louis catches the faint patterns in the table, as if waiting to answer will make it less uncomfortable.

"I sort of told them by accident."

"When?"

"Back in Brisbane that night," Louis admits, biting down on the inside of his lip. "I made them promise not to tell you."

"So all this time I was the only one who didn't know?"

"I didn't think I had a chance," Louis says impatiently, aware of how the others are still listening. "Don't you get it? You weren't supposed to ever find out."

Harry's still holding his hands, firm and warm around Louis' smaller ones, and he uses it to pull him close now, almost all the way into his lap as he kisses him in front of everyone, holding him tight when Louis begins to squirm.

"You have a chance, now," Harry whispers against his cheek, arms locked around his waist firmly, "so try not to mess it up."

"Me? You're the one so obsessed with being in love that you might over-reach," Louis retorts, but it's mostly lost to Harry pulling him in again with a hand in his hair.

Niall starts up the applause, and pretty soon the entire cafeteria area is full of it.

It's all people they've know for years, the team they take with them across the globe, but it's still a relief to hear their support echo around the walls. Harry doesn't let Louis go until he stops trying to break free, and by that time he's quite content to just remain where he is. He feels no shame with Harry's arms holding him up, no regret as he rests his head against his shoulder.

“You ready then?” Niall asks as he climbs to his feet, Zayn and Liam joining him, and Louis thinks he is. Ready to continue the tour, to break it off with everyone who's ever taken him home, and to settle down, finally.

“Yeah,” he grins, victoriously. “I'm ready.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> http://evelynegrey.tumblr.com/
> 
> http://genderqueerharrystyles.tumblr.com/


End file.
